This is one of the first poems I wrote. Still living with my parents, I wrote after midnight in the darkness of a home office, in front of a beige computer. I was a member of an online art forum...

A few computer nerds with a penchant for word porn, before any of it was hashed out to tag trends, would gather and write to find a place in the universe where we could be a pair of heart eyes. Just a pair of heart eyes. Bleeding soul meetings were attended from Sacramento, London, Montreal, anywhere with dial-up.

Our emotions were celebrated and we tried to find more of them through a poetry community. It was the birth of my sky, made up of all these wordy constellations. Not one, but many stars guided me through some tough moments. At some point, I followed one's song to the west, but that's another story for another road.

This poem, Skinned, was written around 2001. On the mathematical scale of my growth, I was at 2+2. Perception was the main theme of the year, and remained a major traffic light for a few years after that... The fertile silence of that room was a treasure I continued to seek every time I opened a window.

This poem doesn't resurface with a nostalgic tune to take me away from my seasonal dive, it's a breath of compassion, filling my lungs with a cleansing sound. The vibration of a sun swallowed whole.

How many times will we be reborn?




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Labels: alarming truthness, artform, cult, echo, From Obscure Light, Homework, must i say what this is