(FULL VIEW ON THE PIC PLS)
Forester running
through thorns,
stroking trunks
and flowers,
unharmed, unharmful,
I am, I am.
Over rocks to the precipice
there's my leap and then,
like humming bird,
suspended in air facing
light-blue and winter-blue
water,
I am, I am.
It speaks to me
by running through me,
it invites to coexist.
Forester staring at
translucent body,
my veins into
lyrical thin tree branches
and from center of my hand
growing branch reaching out
to embrace my terra cotta heart,
I am, I am.
Bubble...ing, Splash...ing
Move...ing,
water to river,
waves mingle
into one another,
there's milk on my eyes
and so the clouds gather
into the vastness of the sky,
the wind dancing
with my hair.
My hands beg then turn to fists,
grasping air, water, fire, earth,
and so the burst of energy:
my hands, fingers, firm,
rock-stiff,
my jaw clenched, abs and
legs, firm, rock-stiff.
The roots are going down,
the roots are going down,
the roots are going down
from my feet,
down into the Earth
with wind twisting
around the storm
pouring lighting,
shouting bolts of change:
I am a forester,
my roots are here,
they take me anywhere,
they guide me through...
I am, I am, I am.
The Forester
.poetic.penetration.
Composition on Bristol
Your negative space mingles
in such a lyrical way with
my figure that both
you and me
create shapes within
each other and on the
outside and upside down,
on a 33° or 90° angle
of perspective, no matter
from where we look at
us,
we’re just recreating and
reinventing our own piece of art!
Your negative space mingles
in such a lyrical way with
my figure that both
you and me
create shapes within
each other and on the
outside and upside down,
on a 33° or 90° angle
of perspective, no matter
from where we look at
us,
we’re just recreating and
reinventing our own piece of art!