So this is recovery, you claim
you found something new today to name
but all I hear is birds, birds, birds. Last week’s New York Times
sits still unopened. You were interested, you said.
The schizophrenics you have known all led front page lives. The one
or two you tried to reach succumbed
to misery, or death, or sleep.
TEACH ME DEATH you say they dreamed, yet
you dreamed of fish. Now it’s birds.
Birds, birds, birds. All I ever hear is birds. Ain’t
you got no sense? Sometimes Frankie I think the Devil got you.
I think you think too much or not at all. How come
Frankie all this talk of names? EVERYTHING HAS DONE BEEN NAMED
already, Frankie. We both know that, except these damn
birds your house is full of. It ain’t enough to name them Zimri
as a bunch like that. How they tell themselves apart? That’s how
schizophrenics get their start, end up calling theirselves us. How you think
that feel, a whole damn flock within one skull and furthermore, Frankie
fine art prints
I started this blog after moving to northern New Mexico from coastal North Carolina. Feeling the loss of my creative community, I started posting works in progress as a way to push myself forward and connect with other writers and painters.
For the first eight months or so I offered original narrative images as weekly image prompt for writers. The Storybook Collaborative pages document the collaborations.
Sadly - for I have enjoyed the adventure, and meeting so many interesting, creative souls - keeping the blog has has taken a back seat to sleep, family, work obligations and the birth of our Mountain daughters. I'd like to get back to it and still hope to one day. Until such time I am delighted by your visit and hope you will leave a comment and come back for more.