A hundred skeins of yarn Unraveling in a quiet orchestra of colors haunting maroons, deep blues, muted pinks burning browns, feathered yellows… Falling from the ceiling, infinite release
Essence t h r e a d s Like morbid talismans, proof that she exists Suspended in perfectly soft, palatable air Curated space designed to leave her nude, exposing milk white bone Mockingly held by someone's vision:
Smoked mackerel left in the hot sun To cure Artisanal craft, worth defined by a pretty penny Somehow more sincere than theater in its intense stillness
She wanted… Someone to gather her pieces And hold them close like a lost kitten Against a caring chest Instead of devouring it like a p a s s i n g exhibit to be lost in memories.
Layered Fragments, Becoming Whole 