I am not an artist. i am a cry let out from the heart, deep and below languages that place me above fingernails and teeth.
I am not an artist. I am a boy who ran away at 12, I joined the circus and wore tights and glitter glue on my cheeks, and the sticky pink cotton got under my skin and i rode the horse while standing on my hands and one day i will become a man.
I am not an artist.I am a rag on the table and my hands are wrinkled and old, and i wash and i wash and i cook and i clean and i do everything in between and i dance as i do it and i sing and i sing
I am not an artist, I am a petal that fell from the rose that grew between the tracks in the sand and i was unplanned and i was unplanned. and the wind will blow me to where next i go, and my seed will sew, my seed will sew.
I am not an artist, I am a video that records the porn for your tv and for your internet screen, and I capture the scene the way i see it and i try to see it casually and i turn on an off with your touch and i dont get out much and i dont get out much.
I am not an artist, I am a flicker of light and I crawl around through the night under pillows and tickle your nose and i crawl above the sea and the sun chases me but i am only seen after the rain, when the dew pushes me off into the sky. and the rainbow springs out from my eye. and i tip and i toe and the i into the you, through. through veins in your leg and into your soul, where i ask your for you to show me your glow.
I am not an artist, I am the sea and I have taken many with me I have taken many with me. and I boil over and fall into the sky and i fly and I fly, and i release through the mountains and into the springs and i bring and i bring. and i dive into the earth and pull roots with my teeth. and i sit in your kitchen and i tickle your feet.
