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Dreams, schemes and silly things. All are written in my faded jeans. �1995 Margie Ricci |
he massacred my heart. pierced it through and through with his words.
he spoke quietly. so cold, as if he were discussing the news.
he ripped my heart to shreds. leaving an aching, bleeding hole in my soul.
then he smiled, condescendingly at me. and I saw bits of my flesh and blood clinging to his teeth, lips and tongue.
yes, he massacred my heart, with his mouth. |
as I draw closer, insanity no longer frightens me.
neurotic fantasy, seems to be a warm, dark cave, in which I can hide. |
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Me |
The sound of the waves mixes with the rush of cars rounding the bend.
Sometimes they crash.
I am between them - the lapping of the lake and the singing rubber tires.
Sometimes they're music.
It suits myself well - the caress of nature and the violence of life.
Sometimes they merge. |
� 1997 |
in the middle of a small, wooden stage a female body is stretched and twisted into a compelling form.
posed on old sofa cushions draped with paint-stained fabric, her body is outlined with tape like a policemans chalk line.
spotlights hot and white fall over and around her form creating shapes and shadows which describe the space her body takes on the stage.
a dozen artists cluster around the stage at varying angles painting in dabs of this color and that; attempting to recreate her form on the stage on canvas.
a teacher goes from easel to easel, commenting and correcting, trying (the operative word) to teach them ART.
the model, twisted on the stage, is completely still, or rather, her body lies perfectly motionless while her mind churns.
while she appears to be made of stone, her mind is a bevy of action, writing a poem, planning the future and performing self-therapy.
she is like a duck on the water - smooth and serene up above and paddling like mad underneath just to stay afloat.
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His bland response to my hopeful inquiry could only be described as cool remove.
It seems my foolish heart has taken a quantum leap while his, just a quarter move. |