He says: Attention is not the same as recognition.
I reply: What if you seek the attention of just one, only to be gained through recognition?
A remembrance of your re-cognition.
Private exhibitions in a single gallery.
Not a diasporic display, even if openly splayed.
The change from bitter to better is [i] before [e]
Except after [c], like my initial.
So, Æ remain unembittered for the better; but,
sometimes, my left eye twitches
A defiance of my body in the face of the mirrored reflection of self-control.
Self-taxing to grow your privatized, closed economy.
And, I scriven in this big notebook with smut.
Do most people know for whom they make themselves appear
or do they just present?
I should have written the words flowing through mind as I slipped to sleep, last night,
because, now, they come less easily.
Exfoliating feedback into smoothness.
Someone imitating you back to yourself to show how ugly you just appeared to them.
Trying to tell the girl who dogged herself to her face.
You remind me of mom, making that face: she says, making a face.
That’s exactly the kind of thing our mom would say to flip the script when she feels uncomfortable: I think but do not say.
The hinterlands wherein we hide behind passive aggressive similes and abide behind thoughts unsaid.
I am not whom I used to be; and, you liked her better; but, I like me more.
Price your art for your target markets and I’ll keep giving myself out for free.
Valued or bought and sold?
Valueless or invaluable?
Just desserts or just dessert?
A dable of monsoon in a desert.
Success for me is not success for you.
Success for me is the Tao of doing while still being able to notice when my bootlaces untie; so, I may, once again, pull this sea monster heart up by them.
He says: I know the magic trick called Algerian Bootstrapping.
I wasn’t talking about you, but I like to: I say with the pedantic, daft determination of someone choosing to end her sentence with a preposition.