In my day dreams I am writing,
captivated by the texture of letters
which swoon me like feathers
caressing the skin of your beloved.
The word- it, covers me;
bodied like an ocean’s presence,
its beauty-rhythmically drowned in essence;
the earth’s landscape.
Words keep me intimate;
Emptying visions running marathons
It is this eagle
inside of me which escapes;
until I found this home
Writing will never leave me alone – separate
it sacredly entangles me into its web of exception;
free form expression
as healing indeed.
The words are the concert
this website is my microphone
to make sense
of the audience in my head which screams.
Like an Alvin Ailey dancer
suspended in air.
Not sure why it chose me.
addicted to the sensations of touch
Knowing that words come
from what we believe is enough
to arrest my senses: handcuffs
liberty entirely forbidden by those bound inside
captivated by my own hang glide.
Hypnotizing, I using words as my crest;
I straighten my wings and prepare for the turn in gest.
- Ressurrection Graves
Date: May 04, 2012