Layers Stacks Puddles Isotopes

oil paints. I shift around my room picking up bits of scraps of thoughts that Ive dropped and stacked..but as of yet have not begun to organize.

the brushes.synthetic. sit inside the basket that sits on top of my book case.

the pig bristle sits on the floor by the canvas.

if I layer the paint. my thoughts will look illuminated. they will look as soft as they are. they will resemble hope and salvation.

The words, which are strewn about on folded pages of notebooks that are dated from day one to now,go on whispering as they have always done. as if I don't know that they are there.

"how many times can you write about isolation?"

from day one to now.

until now.

god grant me hope and peace

what is my gift

what is my calling

what will you have me do

peace