Circa 2015 To My Poet, I am a cursive body
running laps on your notepad
telling you the story
of how we first met. I am the best type of tickle —
a spark that lights your spirit,
warmth — like the sound of good morning.
I will be bittersweet — the first bite
of a fresh peach, the color green,
stars dripping — Apogee. I’ve heard my words can make you weak.
I speak because your thoughts shriek —
bullet holes decorate the page, your brain
wants more, and we both know
Circa 2015 I sleep at ease when the scent of last night
stitches into my clothes. I breathe,
and every past
good or bad decision
we enacted in moonlight
perfumes the room. His fragrance envelopes me.
The aroma cloaks and holds
shapes: impressions left on the couch,
incense coiling to the ceiling,
the mint on his lips,
the trace of pine he wore
home from work,
even the planted whiskey kisses
that blossom overnight. I watch as mornings rise
like the steam ascendin
Circa 2016 There’s a rush that swells your chest
you discover lust in slow motion. My heart is ripe. It’s ruddy I look at you
and I atomize —
My heart puckers
and pomegranate pulp begins to drip
from my ribs. We explore each morning self-confessed, your words
Tango about me. It’s passion
Circa 2016 I am from the sun—the inspired spirit,
illuminating language like
the warm sound of Good Morning. Living and breathing molecular history,
I am from the Earth
that sits curiously within our natural universe. I am from the trees, growing infinitely
with every thought that blossoms.
I undress my mind : scattering leaves all behind me,
planting seeds on fresh paper. I am from the heart. Ripe,
wild and alive – Write
all the words that make us think.
Circa 2017 Just run with it,
like you would with a pangram
but expand your alphabet
and use the inexplicable thoughts that erupt
from your volcanic mind. Get messy. You need to learn how to dance
before you can fight:
communication is your weapon,
words are your ammunition. Fire. Learn to live like a verb,
you are not a noun. You are
in constant motion because
existence is a fractalized condition.
Language is subject to evolution. Learn to flirt with paradox.
Cumulonimbus tidal waves
blanket the sky
like an overcast of clean bed sheets
calming you into a dream.
It’s a lot like having
your head in the clouds,
but you’re still grounded, rooted
like a white orchid – a delicate luxury. And it’s an astonishing thing:
the feeling of snow on phantom limbs.
It makes you wonder if the Eskimos
had a word for the sensation –
somewhere in between shock
and silk, faux fur and ice.
It must feel nice – like fingering
pages of a not
I am one of five girls, and I am the only one among my sisters who isn’t white. Growing up, I was rarely self-conscious of my skin color, barely aware that less than twenty-five percent of my African descent would have such an impact on my existence, let alone my identity. On state-regulated exams, I checked “other” under demographic, otherwise I would be confined by my race and its implication. I was confounded to call myself American because, surely, I didn’t grow up that
On Saturday, April 29th, 2017, FIGMENT Project returned to Windsor Lake in North Adams for its second year of creative community collaboration. FIGMENT North Adams is a free, one-day participatory arts event that catalyzes and celebrates an abundance of creativity and passion. FIGMENT Project aspires to challenge artists and our communities to discovers new ways to create, share, and think together. In support of this mission, my submitted project, the Creativity Capsule, inv
Turquoise water ripples around your ankles. The translucent hue of blue is vibrant and persuades you to step further into the depths. Your feet, sliding into the sediments, begin to investigate the sand smuggling between your toes. You notice fish swimming fast, and the sun refracting off their scales reminds you of needles sewing silk. Surrounding you is a wealth of greenery. The trees are ever expanding their branches, competing for the sun to kiss their leaves. It’s marvel
The fractal /ˈfræktəl/ is a chaotic phenomenon.
A geometrical structure having an irregular or fragmented shape at all scales of measurement between the greatest and smallest degree such that certain mathematical properties of the structure, as the perimeter or flow rate in a porous medium, behave as if the fractal dimensions of the structure are greater than the spatial dimensions.
Fractals are useful in modeling structures: sunflowers, eroded coastlines, snowflakes,