Things Built

Inside Of A Slightly Dimmed Room With Just Enough Light To See The Canvas But Still It'S As If The Room Is Completely Dark The Way Thoughts Become Visible Without Distraction. Slight Ventilation From A Cracked Window Constantly Rumbles Papers On The Floor Out Of Sight Of The Light. On My Desk Are Lined Paper And A Box Of Pencils Rather Than Pens Because I'Ve Grown To Become Indecisive In This Process. In These Sessions I Often Thought Of The Greats Who Influenced Me. So To The Left Of My Paper Was A Typewriter And Behind Me Were Timeless Horns And Vibrant Jazz Screaming From Vinyl. This Is The Room Where I Learned To Invent. This Is The Room Where Things Were Built A Body Of Poems That Was Designed To Serve As A Portrait Rather Than Just A Collection. Every Piece Had Its Own Blueprint And Was Built With Certain Details To Depict Aspects Of The Overall Image Portrayed.