A silence fell upon the city,

contorted shadows twisting moonlight.

Stuttering in a speakeasy seemed so misplaced

bottles rattled flickering like Fedora feathers

in an unforgiving wind.

The wretched odour of deprivation

a stench that sticks and degrades ones existence.

Even by day this city remains a lifeless sap

and by night the vampires feast on th...

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They say home is where the heart is

and my heart is where the art lives.

So where is my home?

Art lives within us all

and begins an internal/external exchange...

a process

like humanity to trees.

We stop, relax, breathe

as one.

So where is my home?

First Contact was my spiritual home

gave meat and marrow to

broken sp...

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