words by Russ Daum images by Abbie Foxton
Will the revolving, transformative patterns of life
reassure us the mystery rhythms of flowers still exist?
If one finds herself within a flow
of white, pink and purple circles,
intoxicating aromas all around,
will she, instead, distrust what she finds?
Walk away from what is pleasant?
Break the line?
Choose to resist and be broken?
Bees remind us to hover.
To buzz among stained glass hours
and relish existence.
Land in proper spaces.
Find what is needed and transition to better.
Can you not hear the natural colors of chimes ring in the air?
Can you not feel vibrations
of layered loops of musical blossom’s flow?
Or are you deaf and minus the sense of touch?
These white, pink and purple accordions
will soon lie spent upon the earth,
detached in 3/4 time.
A hidden spell broken with a rhyme.
An enchanted waltz today.
Image – Abbie Foxton
Words – Mark Goodwin
Steps, tracks his thoughts, pausing on the landscapes inside him, conjuring a word-song of sound.
stumbled into a brickworks happening, grabbed a brew from the bottle-o cause it seemed only natural, dj all boom shack-a-lack, loud blankets down teasing, what we can and can’t, chess kicks to the dance inevitable, stage is set, just a square that juts, so fit in, this is the spot, ripe strawberries, boozy brown paper bags and some grass to lie in, clouds and the sun our lightshow, so play on.
they had drawn
each others smiles
like cloudy stencils
lines and letters
that didn’t make up any words
his face was left
right hand on her mouth
her face was right
left hand painted his
spun like sugar
slit in a zoetrope
if you looked inside
you could see them