Around me I see shapes I am surrounded Disorientated There are too many forms I can’t escape I am a prisoner of this world Of fakes and breaks, And tears/i:/ and tears/e/ They come and grab me, Try to catch a glimpse, Cling to a piece of me.
Paris is a living, breathing, thriving art scene. Street faces are ever changing. Every fortnight, an anonymous fresco replaces another. So much is exposed, fleetingly, then disappears, covered and covered again. So much is shown. So much is hidden, brushed over, never to be seen again.
“Words of time, traveling to the stars beyond. Words of love, drowning in the memory rains. Words of mine, falling down upon dreams of tomorrow.” – Ivor
“What sunshine is to flowers, smiles are to humanity. These are but trifles, to be sure; but scattered along life’s pathway, the good they do is inconceivable.” ― Joseph Addison
Rock gods are watching, sitting around the circus, impassive, solemn. Quiet, immobile, sealed giants, imperious guardians of Earth, and ambers. Daunting frontier, packed, cracked crust, joining dusty ground and light shadows. Airy veils brushing softly on alpine tops, filtering rays,
– i – Little shadows dancing on asphalt screen. Wings fluttering unseen, owning the air, as we are bound to ground. Tiny weightless bodies, heaving high and low, flitting up and down, gently brushing by, circling, grazing disturbed skin, stunned by foreign touch.
Caught between beds, hours borrowed to Night. Torn between people – no rest. Moments rushed. Lost self. I wish I could split, live fully in many places at once. There is never enough time.
Eyes bestow, ears tune in. As I run, vibrant sun causes beads of sweat to simmer on my reddened skin, on and on I step – eye-sight flickers. Focus lost. Ground heaves under my feet. I tumble. and regain balance.
Cracking, crackling sounds, chomping clatter, cascading down with shreds, fragments Falling, thudding on branches. Leaves rustle – clamour answering the shocks, rippling in waves, bough to sprig. Shattered airborne seeds, scrap by scrap, fall back to Earth. Organic shells crash, inanimate dust.
Ouvre moi ton coeur, Open your heart to me, Montre moi les details, Show me the details, Qui composent ton être, That create who you are, Intime de ton histoire, Intimate of your story, Inconnu de la mienne. Yet unknown in mine.
Along the asphalt road, the heart of the mountain whispers age-old tales of nature and men. Thriving, striving, belonging, nurturing, feeding, nourishing, settling, struggling, scarring, destroying, ruining, poisoning. Questioning mankind’s stand, stellar heroes brandish Nature’s coat of arms.
Earthy plates crashing, segments colliding with force, exerting pressure, causing mineral matter to rise and reach out to the skies, prickling celestial grounds, tickling vaporous feet – ore touch, unsettling,