Wander Bred

Art is a fierce weapon

(leaving wounds dripping colors) against authoritarian solitude in urban landscapes

I am a tiny dreamer with a dancing dress on

I stretch my skin taut like a canvas  and repose against beauty                                                                               waiting to be painted,                 or for an artist to compose me

external inspiration pries the inner eye open

a new, venomous reality slithers down my throat

grabbing hold of my own defensive tools,        I head to the streets

meeting similar souls along the way

and slipping into our avatars we roam this new purpose                                                                                               trading skin for ink    (skin – s= kin ÷ nik = ink)                                                                                                      playing with temporary alchemy

knowing what becomes old will be born anew eventually anyway

racing toward the ripeness of my life

conceptions of love take shape and disperse again

Amy→ forever destined  to journey

I light wings on fire

it burns, abandoning stability

but with fingers grasping feathers etching dreams on paper

and with eyes fixed like stone reading the world’s story in in the language of maps

I wander: will anyone else comprehend?

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~ by Amy on October 9, 2010.