Thankfully, it's fatal

I've not been present for the past two days.  I would ask, beg, plead for forgiveness but I do not believe anyone has been offended or should be if they were.

 there's a painting. Acrylic and ink on four canvasses. 54.5"x43"

The inability to have been present was entirely within my scope of control and I simply chose to not be or rather I spun into a depression that I am still in the grips of but am now choosing to at least be productive to see if that lifts me from the mire I find myself in. This isn't a good time for depression as I typically hate my poetry and prose when I am this down and this depression has chose to not set any new precedents in that vein. Posting may be a doorway out or into an abstract depression which would also be fine.

abstract depression being far more preferable to standard depression

So, here I am in mid post with two photographs that have little to do with anything, but what is this post about anyway? 

I long to write poetry about the beauty of flowers but I either pick them or they wither while the words lie in wait for the impressionistic moment when they will be most needed. So the flower dies and I write vignettes about soup, carpeting and the clean feeling teeth have after eating a fresh apple. 

who wants poetry about flowers? who wants photographs about flowers?

just in case you wanted a photograph of flowers

the sun hides

-    for Jackson


The sun hides
behind clouds &
cold wind
but
   wishes
        to
shine down on
my garden
for the flowers

 - Hoc Scripsi

just in case you wanted a poem about flowers - sort of.