Morning Scribbles
#morningscribbles#comefindmeyousicksonofabitch#poetry#Pointillismwillbethedeathofme.Somebodysawoffmyhandsbeforeitstoolate.
The end of the world happens and it happens so often that we hardly even notice it anymore. History was this house. This whisper in the wood into our earliest of ears, listening to the ache of some cataclysmic event where the world shifted and built itself all over again. Where everything died so everything could live. Where each and every possibility was exactly as it was. Exactly as it is, was listening to this scream made down the hall, the echo of a father who made a son, who was again, a son who became a father. Where the trees overshadowed. Where a home was undershadowed. Where all the debris cast us to shadow to shadow on.
Ink on Paper 32” x 24”
Great stuff Keith. Also what is it about the word 'debris' that I love so much? It's honestly one of my favourite words.
Cast us shadow to shadow on… very cool Keith