The Struggle

To struggle is to make art

I say

tugging the stringy floss of words from my mouth

vile.

splatters on rice parchment

Feather point

dipped black ink drops

vial.

distilled life experiences

as bleeding spiderwebs lines

of the pulped wood, the hearts of gods soaked in your bland blood tears drops dripping from your forehead in exertion as your soul realigns with your body on the silkscreen spacetime marked with that tiny pinpoint of your location, your existence, Cartesian 0, 0, 0, 0

vacuum.

time and space give us nothing. But moving does.

dancing bodies or scribbled, pre-assembled rap battle lines

blurred pastels and smudged charcoal

cues and autotune

crappy coffee from a campfire heated pot, ceramic. Blue with an azure trimming. Pour spout, flip top, whistle when it’s ready. Tone turns to a flat drone.

vital

scribbled notes in the margins

the signs of a crazy man

vago-

Bondage is to be tied down to something with no fear of what is coming. But I’ll take a few drinks to expose myself like that.

vino

Takes the edge off my frozen heart

vulnerable

I’m loved.

valuable.

I’m scared

vertigo

But that voice whispers just let go.

Let go

Let go

Virtuoso