The piano's abrasive chords
Discharged puss from its pumice on
Slate throat gag release of sound
Her fingertips turned purple because
she was sure
She listened to the hoarse wallops of
The galloping breaths of the hip-tides
Hip-tides are two-headed monsters
They were inseparable...
her admiration for them anyway
She kissed the pneumonia on its throat
Only to find herself crucified to its conscience
Conscience of wisdom through witness
Aware, Wednesday loathes Sundays... hanging
The cellos soothed her heart
But it only made it worse
"P.S., the death." they wrote
But her mind disobeyed shifting to find comfort in her channel of thought
Like sifting through a transistor radio
"Don't remind me for, I've seen", she thought
Her knees head to head
Then she saw the pneumonia fade into the deep sea of honesty
The death that surrounded it was not hers
Poem and painting by Mando Padilla
This is the photo of the day because everyday I dream of monsters.
"P.S. Martia" is something that keeps popping up everytime I clean up my notebooks. Its just a fun thing to read although I'm not sure what it means anymore. I chose it for this entry because my garage is filled with ideas, skulls and music notes. In fact, every morning before I work out, my garage reminds me of the work that needs to be done. All of these canvases are now full on paintings which. Some of which will be revealed in the up and coming weeks.
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