Walking, following my shadow in front of me,
so capable of holding my dream in your dark complexion, a friend that walks steadily through the line ‘tween what is real and what is dream.
The two kiss,
like an explosion of light
from that one painted street lamp.
What is seeing when it rips the structure asunder piece by piece till what you thought was solitary and enduring becomes nothing more then water flowing?
So like fantasy is this life I breathe,
where does one end and the other begin,
the line shrinks from distinction.
Lost at sea in both the real and fantasy, overlaying my beloved notions of Beauty upon the seen.
I attempt at wholeness, to wholly see another without my ideas strangling them.
Stand back you defenders, allow for the balance. So hard it is to walk with your head in the clouds as your feet take root in the softening ground. I look to where the two meet and think on the space between my shadow, a dream, and my feet, the concrete.
The Sketchy Kids 