weighted, wandering, I gaze at

each fleck of gold, caught in

the streaky colours that fill the walls,

carefully composed into chaos.

worries smile and crawl

out of my skin

curling up safe in a tiny triangle of green,

laying down in a perfectly shaped eye

grinning back at me.

They live there now, healed and happy

whenever i find this painting

I will also find them.

CCH 2013

as usual, we do not live eye-to-eye.

Everyone pulls out their technology and sits alone,

dicing, marring, rationalizing beauty into tiny pieces trying to Understand.

what you do not know: the quiet cloth is my dream

I glow with it, I grow in it, white-hot is the clarity in me.

Fear, the orangey-pink shapes that attacked me in the subway that night

were from your lips. And yet no one said anything.

Maybe that is why I have painted you all in vomit, for

we learned how to eat each other, but we could never

keep it down. All over the walls.

this time, we’re brushing to gold, raising spirit glasses

to our eyes and lips. To new beginnings.

last night’s dream

I pulled a worm out of my face,

and wanted to show everyone

tell them all

in case they had one and didn’t know,

because I wanted them to know what God is doing,

that I have won a massive battle

and can see straight again.

But no one wanted to hear it,

when they saw the worm they shrieked and threw up their hands

“Why are you telling me this????”

Now they know why my face looks the way it does,

but the worm will rot away and be forgotten by everyone except me.