Xanadu
 

I am an angled paint brush,  with densely packed bristles. Lost on a blank canvas, looking through my fluffy edges where to start. Where...

My focus is my favorite necklace. Tangled, lost, in the morning rush. Clasps clawing at the big hand. Long brown hair equally as tangled...

My creativity is a submarine treading through the desert. Ladder up to the dry air a lash-up of cacti and dunes. The channel fever is now...

My hope is a broken phonograph that still tries to play. The dull stylus barely being held up by the rusted cueing lever, slowly...

My focus is an obstructed mosaic.  Colorful glass, restrained by a cloth curtain.   While interstices unite,  and tesserae sparkle,...

My thoughts are a train off its tracks in the middle of a lake.  The wheels are slowly sinking, The conductor is nowhere in sight. The...

My mind is a burning lava. Hot, fiery, shameful. My hope is an uncontrolled hydrant, chaotic, messy. But almost always I'm that crispy...

My hope is a colorful fish swimming, alone, in a bleak desert. Scales shriveled in the blistering sun—swallowed in gritty sand where no...

My trust is like a rabbit's den In the middle of a wolf's hunting grounds. A sanctuary that was used for safety and bonding now became a...

My creativity is a dry pen pressing hard against the paper, scarring the grain. Margins wait for words, but none appear— the cartridge...