top of page
toccare (art is...).png


every where

every thing

purges of passion paint

rocks jagged, static beside

the mediterranean sea:

ART IS myprison

words wrenched

from creators-to-see

with selves still to slay

before—entwined, apart—

becoming unity

art is not my anything

but every one


a universe of pores,

the body-being

goes innately the way

of the exalted sponge—

each sense ravenous,


rapturous at the subtlest

stimulus despite signs

that dare demand

of fingertips insatiable

for knowingness.


what's deepest within

is what's right on the skin—

bodyscapes stripped,

landscapes laid bare,

of all that subsists  

on two-dimensional air.

not cage or key

but necessary of life’s

unending expression

of itself, eternity.


beneath the world

wide webbing of

regurgitated words,

the boundlessness

our essence knows

only to be

gasping on vividity,

bursting into tactility,

snagging its skin

raw and swaying

with the intensity

of it all—


made manifest


captivated with

each and every

shape it takes.

bottom of page