Broken glass, song, verse, poem, whatevs number three. Here from beyond to “emancipate yourself from mental slavery.”
Slow rhythmic, rhythm with rhymes so magically… woven. Woven through the tapestry of time our shared consciousness trav-els.
Slice. Sliced a bit of my flesh open so the blood pours through these keys, making music with words when I type or the pen dances passionately across the canvas…
Of Paper or screen. It doesn’t matter to me for even if I was blind, I’d paint, so long as the word, that Love, was with me.