some days, the words
find me or i
find them and
they may or
may not open
the hatch,
the secret opening,
the place where
God is said
to be.
who made the hatch?
in one side, out the other
and back again.
forgetting the hatch
i am free.
chris woodhull
Category Archives: Art
as if it mattered
the night tears away
like a match, billowing
and booming in
movie stills —
the mind, a hand turning
images, sepia
and azure blue.
something slips on nights
as these, the track of being?
i sat in the car all night
nearly frozen, alone
surrounded by the machinery
of worry –
she had left
this storm is dark, I am
a character looking for a line –
what is the meaning
of this storm and rain
and why is my mind
fixed on it?
as if it mattered.
poem by chris woodhull / art by mark rothko
Monks & Mannequins 