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poetry by erica lewis with artwork by Mark Stephen F

poetry by erica lewis with artwork by Mark Stephen Finein

the stone age did not end because we ran out of stones

              from those things that own you


the world is a series of rooms arranged in concentric circles one moment you are wondering
if it will snow the next moment you are swept up by a force greater than yourself
like a pilgrim you remove your shoes



what i liked were absurd paintings pictures over doorways
bright colored prints and silly old songs
really i used to believe in every kind of magic



the smell of fresh pressed powder or the memory of the smell of fresh pressed powder
there’s obviously a visual core to the whole thing but when you take into account what’s going
on with time and lines the duration of the thing it changes focus or it takes on another one
temporal as well as spatial you know i realize that my work is totally “about” time but i never
could face making such an overwhelming decision



the architect of my destiny in charge of what i bring this to me or push that away
the nostalgic desire to construct a radically simplified world “there” is neither “that” nor “this”
burning having been set aflame in the snow



the notion of being diminished by not existing the emotion sustained by thought and then
visibility the measure of where you start and that you start out with nothing
how nothing gets taken away from you



barrels of garbage burn inappropriately

you can no longer blame other people for things that happened to you



love memory and confusion i too have been making less of everything



to draw a single line was my intention



from camera obscura





















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