ease into the noise.
   slip through the crevices of mastication.

holdontothe                                                                                                          words, words, words.

(what remains are the told, set against the untold.)



Come a fortnight of great coincidences and unnerving cosmic significance. Of a thousand piece puzzle coming together like a Byzantine mosaic or a trail set ablaze by a night sky of shooting stars.

Her heart is an adorned catacomb. It is an unawakened spectacle of turbulent potential energy: immobile and unmoving.

But she is oil and youwater.

Old Wounds #1


We were running too fast for anyone to see. Too fast for our own good. Until our souls ran out, and the tread marks skidded past us.


4" x 4" acrylic and recycled paper on canvas, Old Wounds #1 by Jonee Jabez
Text Anonymous

Pieta Reverses



visual poetry by ISDA

** click photo and open image in new tab to view in high resolution



Thoughts of you are butterflies flapping thither and hither in the thin air of my mind. Directionless, these thoughts flap its wings thoughtlessly until they are caught up by the woven nets of my momentary attention, just four to five seconds above and it’s gone, like listless tiny bubbles on the ebbing surface of the sea. Plopping together, or one by one – plop! Plop! In an instant, gone.  They go unheard of, unnoticed, barely there, but, until they join the huge deep blues, and once again, again, in a million times, turn to thoughts like butterflies diving thither and hither the thin air of my mind.

You are, in essence, a butterfly I entertain once in a while. 


Watercolor by  CY
Prose by  CY

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