Monday, January 5, 2009

A rush of art to the fingers

Between breath
Is the pause
Before the out and in starts
There, colors are swarming
Brooding and laughing
Hypnotizing me stop breathing
They wait and tickle
To let them out
They will burst
If we ignore them
When I open
They won't hesitate
Flooding the tiny cracks
Breaking the hardstone that keeps them
They are vibrant
Vast and wild
I am the rich soil they sprout from
And the binding that keeps them
The mud they tread through
And the rain fills them

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