The bolt on the door must be thrown,
so out of bed shrug my shaking bones.
We are a pile of tired connections
and joints creaking over the floorboards.
Shadows and wind hit the window and
every stir jostles all these pieces.
We ask the streetlights for help to shine
and the trees for help to stand and even
the stars for help to fall but those things
are outside, and we are in here.

The water goes above my head
Feels like i haven't left my bed
Is this what it feels like?
I'm drowning, not sure how long i can fight
I'm sinking deeper and deeper
The bottom seems too be getting even steeper
So ill hold my breathe
Till i drown to my death.

Body is thy art for centuries.
Body is thy art from form and bone, to flesh and blood.
Body is thy art for the private genitals of ****** function.
Body is thy art to own a kiss of each lip.
Body is thy art...
Each connecting bone, head to toe...body is thy art.
Our vocal cords that tighten as we speak...body is thy art.
Body is thy art because of it's natural form unknown to human yet known to soul as our eyes meet each stranger.
Body is thy art when we touch and connect.
We are art.
Sexuality is not an embarrassment, because body is thy art that we share everywhere.
Every ****** made from touch and *******, body is thy art throughout all humanity.

authentic shots from the shooting place in iran.
dozens of people died

however

she is not ashamed of her beauty. the famous model
let her ******* peek out at the ceremonial party –

all good
then

the icy ink flowing from my pen was cold enough for concern
the words laying down on my manuscript was not, what was in my head
it appeared to be a warning of some kind
warnings of a mad soul
a soul, living in darkness, surrounded with the brightest of colors
colors, sitting in the background of happiness, just lingering
waiting for the right time to circulate again...

Brian Hill - 2020 # 154