Nothing is so real to me as the illusions I create with my painting. The rest is shifting sand.
— Eugène Delacroix
Grant, R. G., et al. Remarkable Diaries: The World’s Greatest Diaries, Journals, Notebooks, & Letters. United States, DK, 2020.
Tag: Haiku
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Abandoned. Lost. Rot
on cobwebbed doorsteps. Their joy,
crumbles to sadness.
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You’re full of questions,
I can’t answer. My daughter,
I will let you down.
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No season’s cold bites
my flesh as sweet as Autumn’s
does in September.
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Fresh baked Cuban pan.
Raw pork loin chopped on request.
Dinner in thirty.
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We’re at odds on all
things, but one. I concede. Your
fall sunsets are best.
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Thunder knocks against
the drywall. Rain taps against
the flue. Silence waits.
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The hour glass flips.
Each grain precious. Each grain a
choice. How do we choose?
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June’s afternoon heat
burns the egg shell leather of
his two door coffin.
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A lit match unites
desert tribes. Cowers. Ashamed
of his blood soaked blade.
Floodlights and Goalposts 