My image torn broken
Without my mind I could feel the darkness.
To survey the area and see it's spatiality.
I saw and surpassed, what you thought your recognition of a tattered boy.
It's ok to be hurt, it is ok to be broken.
The batter tattered doll.
Knew something the plastic people didn't when they where in their molds.
He knew how to cast, he could mold form and see form.
Feeling and knowing thew twisted ivy path.
Cairns and cries wonderful worlds.
Whimsy and innocence.
I saw all the faces on black construction paper.
They did not know what you were drawing with your little hands, and chewed on crayons.
Your markers mark the sky.
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