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03/11/10 - (1)
Conveyor Belt
I'm a sketcher, a stitcher, a composer of linkages, analogies. No matter where I go, where I am, when, and why, My eyes, ears, nose, and their attendant imagination Can't help but fashion an imagistic crazy-quilt pastiche From the seemingly least consonant, most disparate correspondences.
Ah, but therein lies the magic, the passion, the mysterious nature Of the creative agency that mandates my life's purpose, Forces me to see the world circumscribing my mind Not as a series of static scenes projected against a bleak screen But as a conveyor belt transporting civilization from Eden to eternity.
03/11/10 - (1)
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