Butterfly1991

I am not the man left hanging in the closet - the patterned plaid of slip knot mother sent for Christmas or the herringbone caul of wool that shrouds my skin from winter. I am not the grey flanneled stride that steals the sidewalk from children jumping rope or the cable stitched fisherman stalking the wharf and crumbling pier when dusk comes calling. I am but a bonescrap and a dream, a plural of nerve and tendon that keeps a distant profile, coaxes living from these garments and owns the face of many.

...you say you've lost something... you can't find what's been let go... you wanted help in searching... if looking for the thoughts that confuse you, the spirit that frustrates you, the laughter that beguiles you, eyes that truely see you... if your looking for the art that is every part of those hands... come closer... they're wrapped around my heart...and hopefully soon to be holding my hands again. XOXO?????????.... not sure... but no time to change it... Blah....