With eyes closed I see snapshots.
Flipped in chronological order
I see myself changing. It’s all
black and white but I wish
it was color, imagine
blue sky and a red
paisley shirt.

Looking out my window the world
runs away. I mean no one appears
to be seeking me out, instead
they all seem to get smaller.
Imagine my hand reaching out
touching their horizons
and how it could smash
all their houses.

When reading about children
who burn paper bags, my fingers will tingle.
It means something profound
is destined to happen,
a crop circle forming in my yard,
a visiting corpse scratching my back.
I wish I could say it makes sense,
instead I’ll just ask,
has this happened to you?

This morning when color schemes changed
I pinched my left temple to prove I exist.
Contemplating others,
I believe they’re illusion,
providing me freedom
to do what I want.
So now if you say I’m self-centered,
I can say you don’t even exist.

The mirror in my bathroom is a picture
of the space found behind me,
it defines shape and form. If I stare
long enough my physical self disappears.
What remains in the area I left
is my ego.

I enjoy stretching out in the slump of your couch,
telling lies I know you are parsing for truth.
It leads me to ask where we’re going?
Have you come to conclusions?
Let me be honest,
I’m a little apprehensive
about what follows death.

Selected byJordan Trethewey
Image credit:Hal Gatewood

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.