by Stefon Napier29 Jul 2013
My soul is right here
A condensed monument to life.
My face is as one who's paintings are shattered,
The work of his life, his artwork hanging almost thematically
Paint slipping onto earth where it pools unnaturally into a haze.
The width of the world is unbearable because if someone screams in Venice then in America it will be heard as an echo.
A girl witnesses her father tumble in friction with air and her heart slams into lungs while a pale doll with a thin stitched smile remains limp in her hand offering no sympathy.
We do not get this convoluted image.
A simple man is dying and because of the width of the world his daughter is simpler still.
Again, we do not get this convoluted image.