Reflections on communism, inspired by the water colour of a Korean artist/friend/soldier that I crossed paths with in the wise city of Sofia, Bulgaria.
Silent things are not for conquering
Premise: we are thriving off the lives that criss-cross around us, leaving paper trails.
Sense is the seeing, believing, the touching, tasting, the being
The slopes that rise and fall With our breath between them Are a sihloutte of green hips On the horizon: Suspended across the skies In an effortless sprawl, They are wild thighs To the wondering mind As a pen is to paper The incarnation of daydreams.
We pepper our words for the common feast
Matter born of mind is never strictly unnatural