The things that are seen
speak against a flat roar
of grumbling backfires
heard as tick tock blows.
The definition of ethics lost
when fog rolled in to talk
a hypnotic, imperious yawn,
some vaporous devil's spawn.
The spirit of man died,
the devil takes no care
as the rush of stupidity
moves in like real estate.
Ethics is lost in listening
whatever gets said, gets said
all petty cracks foam the drift
a toxic doom fatal to the touch.
I donned my bib and gloves
and set my art upon this
surf by the paradox
to the fading light.
Fore! Playing through it all
is a matter of visual style
integrating grass with asphalt
mastering eternity's shore.
While this cloudscape remains
I'll not waste time in harbors
no ethical meaning could dock,
but chase stupid back to hell.
Still, I'll rest to moon whispers
on full nights you might hear me
to quickly, to make the time real
beautiful is given in light and vision.
rj, 2007
This was meant to give some perspective to my absence here and what I've been doing with my time, developing myself as a graphic designer. Clearly, there is some less than masterful shore definition within the container and it continues to be wanting with respect to concrete anchors and pillars to hold it in the listening.
Some things always change, and some never do!
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