Poetry
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12/22/2017
i believe in honesty – x is x and y is y – like frost on snowy days, and also in the off-key notes that every artist plays, half-developed photographs, barely thought out rhymes, and in the bizarre colors that you see when you take time. Continue reading
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Poem: Old Words
old words on crisp paper, new words in my racing mind… ideas vanishing like vapor, foreign colors – make me blind… love is written with four letters symbols – stare until they’re vague; humans chasing it, like beggars fail to find it, die of rage – for old words on crisp paper undying love can’t… Continue reading
Mariella Hunt & the Tearoom 