at first glance, one might think...

...this hardly qualifies as art. but, everything on this earth deserves a second look--except for the toothy little man that yelled "hey sweetie" at me repeatedly from his truck as I was leaving my apartment this morning (though, at least i got an 8am giggle out of it).

art is "the quality, production, expression, or realm, according to aesthetic principles, of what is beautiful, appealing, or of more than ordinary significance." And might I add, if you can't stop staring at it, it's art. but who cares what I think. I love this piece here by Michael Bilsborough. His first NY solo exhibition opened last month. I'm moved to scribble my own psychosomatic maze.



from The Only Way Out is Through (if I had an exhibition, I think I'd name it this).

i wrote this on march 30.

and i found it in my "drafts" today.

i miss the bf sometimes. everyday. he's completely moved forward and let go, and right there in 2nd place, i've tried to do the same. but i miss the old us. the happy us...and isn't that what they all say...they "miss the good times"? but wouldn't it be a blessing to have someone to get through the bad times with as well?

I've still got his shower scrubby under my sink, and he might have my bath scrubby still in a bag in his hall closet. who knows. when we broke up, he gathered all my stuff, dropped it into a plastic bag, and put it in his closet. It seemed very cold. Though, I thought to myself, "why not just throw it away?" i still have all of his emails...over 200 of them. i don't know whether to delete them or not...seems cruel to keep them, and cruel to delete them. months ago when i asked him if he'd kept the emails, he said "yes"...and that he'd keep them, though he probably would not read them. I wonder...

6 am

dawn's light jumpstarts the day,
kicking the night frost from his branches
"go away darkness. go away cold"

the deafening silence becomes
the song of robins
the stillness--
the dance of winds
the flutter and the tempest

yes, you are ready, my love

as the first elm bloom undresses
the laying grass shakes itself to life
the air has a virgin's odor
new. warm. lucky.

for 100 days ahead
we are Spring.

Image: sudhamshu