My Dusted Skin


My  white body

coated like cake

my heart stretched

against dancing ribs

crying and pushing at quantum buttons.

This metaphoric desperation

forms storm cells

and knighted beings

create artworks on my knees.

I am moving me forward

mind cracked and allowing

a vessel,

a heat machine, self perpetuated,

momentum keeping it strong.

Inner walls are sliding, a freakish velocity of

swirling contents


with inspired action

plucked from a point

of connected vibration.

My dusted skin is priceless and my head prickles and burns

and then…. THEN!

I am made leopard as the clouds release their scent

and finally

I can breathe


I am nothing

no more than moving air




22 thoughts on “My Dusted Skin”

    1. thank you master, I am feeling the poetic urges at the moment 🙂 Just been making some money with my art (which is a dream come true) so forgetting my word health! realising i must do both to keep some sanity (HAHAHA) about me


    1. I was JUST thinking about you
      I was scribbling around with another naked cello player (metaphorically speaking 😉 ) well actually sort a kind of real, on paper with my pencil.
      how ARE YOU? XXX


  1. I think all cellists are naked…metaphorically, at least…lol. The cello is, in my opinion, the perfect instrument. Made from the soul of a tree and strung with heartstrings, it is.

    I have been well. Busy, but stuff has settled down now. 🙂 And you?


    1. seem to be really busy, but learning to slow my heart rate down 😉 lots of art lots of children growing up leaving home lots of spiritual and emotional epiphanies
      deciding to be a deliberate creator so lots of gentle personal persuasion to sat cool and aligned. raining now which we need very very very much. it must be snowing where you are though.
      talking to my friend about going to alaska next year is that a long way from where you live?


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