paint. book. poetry.

I roll with spray-painters and think it’s a fair assumption to say there are likely many paint-like people in our cult.

Unlike Manhattan where Giuliani kicked off the hardcore “let’s throw all the spray-painters in prison” policy back when, Melbourne somewhat embraces the art form. (just don’t get caught)

My neighborhood is a wonderfully colorful place with pretty tags and pictures all around.

I’ve shifted away from Agnes momentarily and back to my memoir. Glorious chapters from various viewpoints are happily tapping out of my fingertips. I’m hungrily flipping through years of life shaking my head a lot and saying things like, “Damn. I forgot how crazy that was…”

This is a poem about who I am missing the most at the moment:

daybreak deliverance

i want you. when you
first wake up. moon inside
morning sky. promise
spilling from another start.
today. you don’t have to
talk about change.
perfection in a moment.
stardust circles. astral
understanding. apart is not
a piece of my possibility.
when it comes to you,
ocean eye wonder.
see depth before me.
floating on the surface,
tumbleweed seeking.
i am uttering. soul speaking.
with others saying. i will,
vow a discovery
to stir you in

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