August 19, 2020
Another 2018 poem…
Don’t know where I’m going, don’t know where it all rolls
I’m turning over the rocks in my path.
The pens have all lost their ink, so I’m carving words in mud instead.
Gritty words which leave their trace on the desk,
on the chair and on the floor
where you walked out the door last Tuesday night.
If my hands are not what they seem,
it’s because they have been scrubbing at the indelible paint
I tried to hide under whitewash and draperies
salvaged from dumpsters last year.
A World Made Out of Stories 
I was struck by the poem, and I am fascinated by the artwork.
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Thank you, Petey. I discovered this book at the library on multimedia collage a couple years back. I’m thinking I might do a little bit more on the ConSecrate piece, now that I see it online. I’d soften the lines in the face, and do some more shading on some elements.
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