Trapped Between...

Faith & Numbers

Tracking my shaman's command to me, "Good, keep painting, make ten more and I'll sell them. Make ten more. You are meant to do art now --dwell in the fire"

Then plucking out the bright coins of my financial adviser, " Every day add ten clients to your pipeline. Call them cold --you can do this, it's hard, but I believe in you."

I AM NOT WORTHY OF THIS LOVE.

How can I live with the weight of it?

I float in the tub, muscles clenched and submerged.
A desperate staving off of,
"What's next?"
But then my tomorrow will flood my sleep tonight.

I took pictures of what I wrote while I wore a velvet smoking jacket.
I can't find pieces to construct an altar, only images to download to the feet of the monitor.
But I need THINGS, GOD I hate that. I HATE things.
Food, money, clothes, shelter.
I want to strip my heart from them, take that with me, those
Flavors and colors and sweet memories attached to stuff
Decouple them from the grimy substance of mass.
FUCK things! They burden my eye's desperate
Desire to shuffle off the weight of my spine.