Egon’s fingers

In Art that lives on expression of dead subjects his genius shines. With each hard brush stroke he claims a retinal cell and soon my vision is conquered. I see scratches of a forgotten soul emaciated and under hardwood floors, of loneliness. He has scratched in the face of a mother and her newborn. One's...

Cutting-edge analysis

As a continuation of the post On the edge of a dream... Swaying back and forth My mind is oscillating More back than forth; I feel it retreating But isn’t directionality dependent on Point-Of-View? I write because I don’t know how to speak. I speak a lot but it is a speech of no consequence....

On the edge of a dream

I need to board a train. The train takes me home. I take a tram to get to the train station. In the tram we are given dance classes. My teacher is wearing a mask and a black costume. He doesn’t show me his face until I get off the tram to cross the road...

Mirror Mirror on the wall…

I hate you I am sorry But I do I stare awhile To know If really This is how They see me Or do You Get pleasure From distorting My eyes My ears My nose My brows My chin My skin My cheeks I speak From years Of hating Of rating Of making My face...