god is an artist
the commission has no deadline
drawing us in
and out
brushing over us all
with fresh
oils
#katyamills
god is an artist
the commission has no deadline
drawing us in
and out
brushing over us all
with fresh
oils
#katyamills
i believe god can only be felt not
touched, heard, seen, gendered or named
and the way you feel god’s energy
alternating creative and destructive
is by faith
#katyamills
tiger strides over to kiss his brother
when i begged them not to fight
mom is ghosting and i feel it
letting its leaves hang this plant asks for water
a dove nesting above the door
another sign from god
#katyamills
Gettin’ to be great at anything is like throwing yourself into a whiteout a snow sky (not a blackout) and surrendering to how the world feels you touches you allows you to exist… and fights you to see what you’re made of (engulfs you if you’re not made of anything worth asserting yourself) and celebrates you if you can stay in it’s light (and darkness) long enough (aka endure) to change and tolerate pain, and work at staying the same while changing. call it core values if you want. call it spontaneous expression. call it art or authorship if you want. call yourself god. see if I give a fuck.
my whole life begins to falter
my pulse breaks away from the pressure my blood runs up a fever and i get the wax pallor the second i clench my fists against an invitation…
dear god
tonight may i make a double
negative
the voice of the machine
unmistakable. a whole room listens as
the natgeo journalist in the forest of my mind
takes a tentative step forward
that night
the ritual
a quiet preparation of the scene
the placing of a sheet
rolling it into view
the smell of oiled letter arms
placement of the fingers
for some thought momentum
the ringing of a bell
the end of every line
i slap the arm to sweep the barrel
down the rail again
hit the block and then recoil
writer’s block…
deus ex machina
carry on
reality was dishes
was rent and quarter
moons and abrasive
the train tracks are so
godddam polished
when the weather clears
i think i will go eat lunch
on them
or paint my nails
or lay my spine out
or straddle them in denim
and ride them
choo choo
like a freak
or follow the vibration
to the end of
the world
like church bells
like prayer
like god was in doing
the thing which
when done
made you