Stick

They lived on paper then.

Stick man and stick woman. stick computers. stick work stick love.

Stick lives stuck.

Something became red-real.

It grew and it bulged, more and more, and one day

It rippped through the paper.

A lip or a tongue or it could be a heart.

She saw it with her own stick eyes.

Now stick man has a red-real heart.

Full and juicy.

The paper is moving.

ba-bum, ba-bum-ba-bum

where

The artist took his pen.




He drew circles around the times we talked.



It made beautiful bubbles,



light like air, delicate,irridescent-oil on clear,



a masterpiece.









The artist took his pen.



He drew stars around the times we've seen each other.



It made a unique constellation, shiny and electric in a dark sky,



leading somewhere,



a map of wonder.









The artist slept and he woke.



He wept on his knees.



For between the bubbles and the stars



he saw that there was no space,



nothing at all.









He needs to draw more.



He desires to draw and draw, on and on.



But where?