after basking in the shade of a willow, palms are insufficient
i see your face, timid yet proud. doubtful and jaded, ready. i know your face, your fingers. hungry and unsatisfied, craving more, but not from me. maybe from me. concerned that i captivate, your face looks away.
my shirt is still damp, a lasting memory of the downpour in which i was caught more than an hour ago.
a delicate fog hovers above the treetops providing a textbook example of atmospheric perspective, although the fog is in both the fore and background.
i am tired although my week was short; i arrived in ithaca 48 hours ago and back above the road i float en route to cultured concrete.
these are my fragments of an incomplete life: at home in the synthetic blue seats of the bus, constantly vacillating between my required life and my desired life, neither fully realized.
i had this thought that sat on my tongue until it decayed
until a dream is realized, the cloud persistently remains
the sun is still rising along with the seas
what thoughts are original and what thoughts are reactions to social programming? seduced by clever marketing, i find worth in stones and silicon. seduced by social pressures, i live in a glowing screen. hierarchical systems of oppression elevate the contrived and repress the natural. the caste system of yesterday is the social network of today.
so civilized but at whose expense
this went there and did and ate that.
that went there and did and ate this.
trapped behind one set of eyes
i've temporarily traded crickets for sirens, but i'm rather grossed out knowing all these sounds are bugs
i woke myself up with the words i was speaking
i had this dream that i tasted the sunset. mouth open over the horizon, the flavors faded. i had this dream that i swam in the treetops. the thick canopy hid the dangers beneath. i had this dream that i loved you and you loved me.
my feet dangle inches above the water.
cold concrete absorbs my heat through the backs of my thighs. masses with masks walk run and roll behind me.
blue fades above me while orange spills eternally. the crown of new york cuts the sky to my left. supertalls loom as we eat cake.
a train. a ship. a plane. an emergency.
i withstand the occasional stench of sewer to perch on the edge of glass. rumbles of humanity drape the trees in white noise and in its midst i float. licked by melting colors and kissed by cool river air. left to wonder if my calm in chaos is madness or measured.
the tide is rising.
the tide is rising and outside i breathe.
my souls are now wet.
running in circles and hating the dizzy
throwing up and mad at the taste on the tongue
today was the last day of my life. i looked back and fell forward.
cadavers crusade unknowingly enslaved
lost in memories, parts 1, 2, and present. looking out to wet grey streets, I feel cozy, surrounded by candlelight and jazz. i've sat here before in a different life.
slim futures flit metallically in silence. i accept the pliability of my rubber future. my desert future. my upstate future. my chinatown future. my mexico future. my montreal future. and if all are wrong, the moments are right.
as a creature of environment i construct my reality
(with rhythm and blues)
above the smoke sat the opening of a conversation lasting the remainder of a life
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photography, poetry, bradley dakota smith, bradley smith, dakota smith, dakotakotasmith, kota smith, art, multimedia, new York, new york city, urban, surrealism, emerging artist, neoconceptual, conceptual art, composition, writings, prose, new media, visual poetry, urban minimalism, urban textures, shapes and colors, abstract photo art, abstract photography, new topography, architexture, text-based art, text art, text based art, word art, postvandalism, reductive art, concrete poetry, outsider art, words and art, contemporary poetry, new modern, graffuturism, iconoclasm, creative writing, writing, writing community, visual art, visual artist, abstractions, cornell, creative, creative director, art director, artist, https://www.instagram.com/bdss1000
