The moon
a slender bowl
resting on treetops,
Venus above.
The park
was closed.
The moon
a slender bowl
resting on treetops,
Venus above.
The park
was closed.

I have lived in artistic communities since early adulthood. I love the energy, feel it even when I am alone in my room. There is affirmation of the value of creating within an art community. There is knowledge that process is important. The energy in a community where people participate in the creative process helps generate ideas, even as we disagree about the relative value of specific pieces or particular forms of art.
Art for me has been a means of keeping an even keel in a crazy world.
Often when I create, whether a poem, a painting or a song, I don’t fully understand the symbols and juxtapositions of ideas until much later. Art is not a way to recreate reality, but distorts reality in order to fully portray it, like a curved glass will focus the sun’s rays on a single point, and result in a fire.

photo of Baltimore rapper Wealth making a music video in Savage, Maryland.
I don’t really care
if you wash the dishes
in the dishwasher
even after
I’ve washed them and placed them
in the drying rack.
I don’t really care
that my desire to buy
large pots
and dirt
and throw seeds in them
to see what comes up
annoys you.
What is most important
is the knowing of each other.
The small things
are who we really are.
When I was sick and despairing,
you comforted me,
forced me to eat,
and stroked my hair.
When you come home to me,
I listen to your stories
your sorrows, worries,
triumphs and joys.
We still sleep
entwined,
my arms wrapped around
your strong back,
or your leg snuggled
between my thighs.
And thus we know each other
past the superficial conversations
of friends
and casual lovers.

ovaries out.
i imagine sex
try to recall
wanting you.
it’s been raining for days.
It is at
Forest
Edges
Where we see
Most clearly.
Shadow laid on shadow
Cut by sunlight
Bare branches
Life tightly sealed inside
Bark and layered rings
Counting years past
All cast
Against
Cerulean winter
Sky so clear
I can almost see
The infinite
Stars
Beyond.
at the monastery
we walk
clockwise
like the sun
moves in our sky.
we spin
each bronze wheel
one after another.
we seek harmony
turning
these 12th century
fidget spinners.

Dawn paints
brilliant crimson
honeysuckle harbour.
Aristocratic egret
preys on
indigo fish.
My city wakes.

Holding babies,
Making art,
Singing loudly
In the rain.

rain
drops
fill
with sun on grass,
miniature prisms
sparkling
cherry,
daffodil,
jade.
fence
lit
gold
at
regular
intervals,
interstices
gradually decrease
w/ distance.