Blank Filling

I carry my
                     Death Certificate
in my pocket
         (Just in case someone wants to know
                             who I am)

All it contains is
           name
                      date
        sex
              date of birth
    (as if being was not proof enough)

So I have this thing,
       saying that I AM

But on the reverse
       an empty whiteness
       filled with unwritten hand:

       when I become Was.

Gary Nelson | Jan 25, 1989

Chaos

Cancel the
                   Order,
we don't need any.

Grab a spoon &
                             blend
right in.

Sculpt a head of clay
             punch
       it
 in

what is it?

   - art?
   - a Statement?

or merely

               Drying?

Gary Nelson | Jan 18, 1989

Picture-p rf ct

report it
               as u see it
be
        xact
                   don't add
                                     don't diminsh

don't colour or
                            interpret.

Pay Attention
                          don't miss a thing
 
&when you've experienced it, you
       failed
                   in your p rf ct recording

Capture the moment?
    not likely.

The shred you caught is
     tied to the rest you did not

Without them,
                           only a fiction

                           of the truth.

Gary Nelson | Jan 15, 1989

Pining Whispers

Listen
            to the tree
                              speak.

It, like us, needs wind to give it
                                                      voice

trembling branches
(so many vocal chords
so large so many
why does he whisper?
- Secrets.)

murmuring
                       to the squirrel in his branches
                                         home, home
                       to the nesting sparrow
                                         home, home

sighing
                     as he slowly sways
                     in the warm breeze
                                         peace, peace

howling
                     at the storm above
                     shaking his anger
                     lashed side to side
                                         flee, flee

whispering
                     to himself
                              when no-one's there

                                        Secrets, Secrets

Gary Nelson | Jan 4, 1989