The radio plays funeral music.
Mother enters my dream,
acknowledges love is a sail
and sets me adrift.

Perception is only
one part of the whole.

Come morning my boat
has blown into the reeds.
The water will soon be
blood red.

16 comments
Selected byNolcha Fox
Image credit:Kelly Sikkema
Dale Patterson

I want my art and writing to have humility, to be clear and void of deception. I want my audience to see without distraction, to feel I have not wasted their time with pomposity. I want to create bold, clean images and write simple, declarative sentences that cause people to confront their humanity.