I Don’t Know

We Live, We Die.

Poetry in paint. 
Doing a few things through life. I think what is driving me is death. As it should. 



Time Passing 

~ Another petal, another poem.

A twig falls out the tree

Catches my eye

Toward another white petal falling

She flips over in the breeze

When another cloud covers the sun

Another cigarette ends

Receiving a shadow as time passes still.