Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

many bricks
heap of----
the wind can only stir dust
it must lift the smallest
and away----
meanings, purpose, advertisements
discolored
dead on the street
where else can you go
but the street
except there is music
it stirs the dust
of what we would call the soul
if we believed
by the nerves, the heart, the ear
inner ear
where sound pounces, bounces
silly
echoes----
how I want to formulate
but water evaporates
no solution
the skin's pigment rubs off
fluid
is the trash of excess
the many
immersed in----
how hot the sun
cold the sun
frigid light certain times of year
as the day's traffic
doesn't stop
but plays its symphonies
its hip hop
its memory-carrying melodies
a white dress
the touch of skin
hand on the shoulder
road to happiness----
scattered bricks and loose dust
damp spots
like drying lakes
with footprints
visible now and then

wow ... urban solidez vanishing in the air...! So synesthesic doors, beautiful, gracias!!!!!!!

words, no words
i'm moved

(no-speak but needed to say)

awesome adventure- completely content with the fow of this- beautiful!!!!

Sunday morning - with footprints - Hell yeah, Mongolia!!

a picture of many cities these days...former houses, now piles o' bricks...it always amazes me how long a building can stand once the roof has withered away, and the weather begins to drench the joists that are pocketed into the brick walls, the support that keeps them from falling....and if it's a bad part of town, well....they often just wait til it collapses....in urban decay though, there is still music....and life....as if no one noticed that neglect had claimed another structure.....two doors down two men are playing checkers on the sidewalk, three girls are jumping rope, and an old man is drinking something from a paper bag....the music of the street