Sketchbook notes 12/16/07
The tip of the knife opens the surface
the deep red liquido stains
bleeding onto the plate
like a handful of crimson dancer's skirt
flicked by a tiny jeweled fist
I can feel the sun warm my blood. The color of my blood deepens a little to sweet dulce de leche. There are times when I wish to worship only the sun.
I'd wear only woven skirts heavy with beautiful colors. I'd have a roadside shrine in from of my little
casita with a tin roof. I'd fill my shrine with tokens of love and in my house there would be sand and tiles the colors of the ocean. I'd eat big
avocados and tortillas and I'd never put shoes on my brown feet...maybe
sandals. I would paint all day and night.
No comments:
Post a Comment