A better draft is the gift of a windy day.
Sometimes I just see patterns.
The field of endeavor; the day-to-day rhythm of endless steps towards complacency becomes too much for me.
Screens and chimes and pleasant bleeps lull me into mindless, not mindful sleep.
It’s then that the field breaks down.
into shivering, electrical abstract shapes.
Form with no narrative other than energy.
Images that just to seem to connect remote dis-relations into pattern and recognition.
The patterns, the connections; look for the connections.
Like Borders. Lines. Fences. Walls.
The bricks that must be removed one stone at a time.
In Gaza, along the Mexican/American frontier;
Borders seem to define.
Here’s my line:
THE BORDER IN YOUR MIND
by Igor Goldkind
The Border in your Mind,
The dividing line,
Between you and you
and you and me.
The crying child on the dusty road without clothes,
Heading toward you,
Reaching out to you
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