Body Art

Remember back when I was to be made to write poetry on myself - my arms, thighs, hips, back, ass, the lot.  There were to be hundreds of photographs taken of my inscribed body, made into an overlap of ego and art, as I strode through woods.  As usual, half costume, half naked.  The mechanical misshapes of your mission statement broke down the process along the way.  I'm doing it now, but it is not being captured in the chemical sea.  The periphery of freedom, alive in a blinding light.  Here it lives, tomorrow its might, on paper I'm setting it right.

~ M. Lucia