February 2012. watercolor.
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december 2011. acrylic. Old Market, Omaha, NE.
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when the lights turn off
fists beat the unwary breath, thunderstruck
gifted from one to the next
as the ground shakes,
neither with cause nor without it
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it pulls them closer, closer
until the beat of his feet crash
in the rhythm of her hips
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smells like trouble brewing in the stench
the sweet smell of a common unworry
like a teenager when nobody’s looking
a child, like every body should be
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darkness on your eyes
a strobe flash to the
sound, the beat, the crowd - it’s all you are.
not who you were and not who you will be
when the lights,
turn,
on.
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Of What It’s Made
It’s like a wave
Breaking on the sand and pulling back quick
Shy like a beautiful girl
It’s every castle washed away
Fleeting, but awesome, if only for a moment
Moments of what happiness is made
It’s like the tide
Pushing on strong when the moon is out
Working in just as mysterious ways
It’s every drop of light
Shining through liquid beads on skin
Drops of light which happiness is made
It’s like an ocean
Searching depths no others thought to
Pulling up discovery of something wondrous
It’s every living creature
Beating hearts pumping with every common breath
Breaths of which happiness is made
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acrylic. winter 2011.
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graphite. 2010.
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