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English
A winding path
I enjoy the unexplained turns this ones takes, no road signs nor indications to help the reader along as they plunge headlong down the darkened trail as it wends its way through the vibrantly shrouded, yet looming in import, forest of emotional imagery you've created.
You show everything you want to bare to the world in this work, and yet you've done so in brush strokes of water: All the details are there, all the facts laid out, the entire picture captured on the canvas in one precise set of strokes; yet for all the information poured into it, the truth of the message is only fully known by you, leaving us with only the brush strokes themselves and the framework of the emotions to work with. A delightful mystery of 'who, what, where, when, why' that teases by giving all of the feelings that those missing answers provide.
An outstanding work that makes me want to examine it deeper and deeper, looking for answers I know I won't find in the words alone.
DOESNT SEAL...TRIES TO PLUG
have to feel a bug in the rug. TK U MLJ LV NV
made me think
about the two kinds of old, for lack of a better word, love: the kind that, except for a poem, would no longer exist - fragile, fading like a photograph you cannot save; then, the kind that marks, the scab that won't heal, the scars that itch, that keep the poems coming - derelict metal sculpture you cannot stay away from.
Watching you bleed these out feels like bearing solemn silent witness. It would feel like voyeurism except for my being on the same side of the bars.
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