charcoal and pastel.

I was it
And it was me.
It had a shape
I thought I'd need
'Cause It fit inside of me.

I promised spring
And golden rods
For moving shadows in vacant lots.
I wound up a concrete bird.

Now a statue, i know what I'm worth.
And the sun is winding down the earth,
In a different dark, on dirty dirt.


I am sticks and bones.
She is bark and skin.
Reserections and daily bread
Were having breakfast again.

I promised a reason.
Its that its yours to define.
And when your ghost is alive
Do you start you die?

If you chase your shadow,
Up the walls and the stairs
While I'm up on the mantel
Framed in a square,
Then close all your windows
And say all your prayers.
I'm bound neither here nor there.

Because outside I'm breathing,
On the sill of your window
From you I am a void of the moon.
Fogging your feelings
And your transparent cieling,
I better be leaving,
With this helium feeling,
Charcoal and hot air balloons.

In an endless waiting room
Anticipating doom,
Clearly,
I've blackened the sun by noon.

Reviews

[Priscilla Sayers]

The sorrow gives this piece an edge, particularly the last line.
You bring us into it my friend, and I want to bring the Sun back, to shine upon the dark shadow, for there are no shadows without Light....
There is no void that can not be filled with enlightenment my sweet Dukovan....

[Shmoke-Sifted Heftlande..]

art, it can be elusive and powerful as romantic love..lost in the labyrinth of it's possibilities and combinations..I see some good references to the experience of being creative and specifically making art..the second to last stanza was my favorite imagery..even on the first reading before i started to get it consciously, I was impressed by the piece's ability to wrap into itself and explore and express in such an involved and flowing manner