I thought they were kidding.
To me, it looked as though it had been painted
by a blind quadriplegic third grader.
There were splatters here, blotches there
a squiggle ran into the corner, then
disappeared around the edge of the canvas.
The appraiser from the Antique’s Road Show
gave it a value of $650,000.00
If I could afford it,
I’d buy it just to hang it facing the wall.
To me, it is the construction of the frame that
steals the show.
To the crisp potato chip
your salty flavor on my tongue,
You elevate my love for life
up at least another rung,
So few your numbers in a bag
Why so cheap your CEO,
just open wide, don’t be a drag
and fill the bag – just let her go.
How grand twood be, would make my days
to find a bag so full of Lays
even I, would spring for dip –
should I find another chip.
There are some mornings my coffee feels so warm and smells
so flavorful that I’d like to quietly slip over the edge of the mug and float
around as if it were a secluded swimming hole.
It has occurred to me just now that my house has no
peripheral vision. I have, of course,
windows facing our direction of travel, but should a pirate ship appear
along side we’d be quite vulnerable.
To the untrained eye, my office appears clean and orderly,
yet sitting here I can’t help but notice the network of wires and cables busily
carrying a blur of pixels north and south, this way and that. I am happy they are no louder than a pencil.
The slight breeze might as well have been a hurricane. Delicate flowers hanging from weak stems danced in the wind while a butterfly, having no weight at all, attempts to precisely land.
This is what passed for art.
I discovered it within an old book. It had come unglued from a page. I can see it is a nature scene but the artist has chosen to remain behind the tree. He or she has not signed their work. There is a certain feel to the picture but I can't quite put my finger on it.
The book itself crumbles at the slightest touch.
It is a book containing philosophies from noteworthy individuals. It was given to me long ago by a friend.
He, as well, chooses to remain behind the tree.
where the rain gets in...
It is very much a mental activity, requiring a random collection of thoughts, phrases and well constructed sentences from an assortment of philosophies and momentary ideas.
The hooch allows me to wander out past the markers.
Wings outstretched
with ease she glides overhead,
knowing below I walk instead.
Riding the currents
above pavement and weed
Never knowing the feel of shoes
or tweeds.
Her decisions are different
up there in the skies –
this way or that, not loafers or ties.
With feet outstretched
She brakes with her wings,
grabs onto the branch
where the Mockingbird sings –
But she’s gotten too heavy,
she’s put on some weight –
snap, goes the limb.
Oops, too late.
There is an entirely different reality taking place within my peripheral vision. The majority of the things I think I see get dismissed as imagined, and yet I know what I saw. There are people walking by, there are spirits traveling without ever touching the ground. If I didn’t ignore all of this activity I would be forever saying excuse me, pardon me, hey watch it. I believe there is more to this place than gets explained by science. Our realm of understanding has obvious limits. We are not privy to everything taking place in all rooms at the same time, and I doubt it is a code we can break, although technology has come close. The invention of the camera has, on some occasions, given shape to things unseen prior to viewing the photograph. Sound recordings have stepped into that other world, if only briefly. It is us intruding on them. Perhaps during those times, we are the ones passing at the edge of their reality.
