Hands

Why do so many artists struggle?

To construct and create an object most everyone shares.

Ten gripping wires covered in rushing heat and confining covers.

Tipped with protective shields ready for dirt or glittering paint.

Typical. Regular. Mundane.

Maybe?

Or is it the way no one is similar?

Each map dipping with crevices no topographer will see the same.

Every warped knuckle tilted another angle, a lilted voice.

Ending in veins and sensitive spots.

Elevating the burn or the coolness of a touch.

Excited by the connection of another self mutated by dusk.

Advertisements

2 thoughts on “Hands

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s