Ink

Ultimately that is what resides on the page. From pixels to ink to nerve endings, the following work is work. It is process. Snap shots of what was. The poems themselves are collages of images and words. What is the meaning? Well, what does it mean to you? When you read blue do you feel red or smell broccoli? With juxtapositions of images, you might find the new meaning of a word or go somewhere you never had before. The trick is making the vernacular spectacular. All these poems are subject to time and evolution. The revisions may find themselves inverted in two or three months. But I cannot see the future. Can you? Or can you see yourself in these? Or is it me?