W.W. Cubism and photograph by: Erickson Smoke Whispered Through the tongue. Logical v i b r a t i o n s whittle The bones, sharpening them To the c ur ve d sticks of harps and bows. Suggestions bubble violent. Among the music, Language is condensed, like milk In rotten, dripping a rust can.--------Sh—ou-----t------s.---... Continue Reading →
Home is...(a Different Hue) and photograph by: Erickson The sun slips her colors.Orange-pink uplifts gray clouds And green-yellow encourages frothy waves. These are the same days our ancestors found ground,Home is home is home.The city presses us close, to ponder. Dark towers dissolve into skies — blue and black, Like Stephen King, us, with pens... Continue Reading →
Home is... (slipping colors) and photography by: Erickson The sun slips her colors.Orange-pink uplifts gray clouds And green-yellow encourages frothy waves. Home is home is home. Each sunset and sunrise,The waxing and waning,The height of the swing, versus the momentum of a fall,Is a human fingerprint. The city allows us to ponder. Dark towers ending... Continue Reading →
"imprint" and photography by: EricksonLips crisp to a close.The hum of the bus – clunk, clunk – forms a ritual.Moving is slow, deliberate,In dark-blue air.Bodies are within reach – White fingerprints on chrome-plated steel meet me.Yet distance,Almost homesickness,Is enemy.The ember glow – dim and forgotten,Reaches from the rear passenger cabin.We stand, among others absorbed in... Continue Reading →
My breath is a rollercoaster. Do not stand on the side or queue lines, enter. The inhale is the rising ramp;The clanking as the body hums.The trap is set, up to the clouds, but we must hold before the fall. Hold before the fall.We were near the heavens for a moment. There were tears amongst... Continue Reading →
(Photographs and writing by: Erickson // 10-minute read time) Chicago has left a mark on me. A bustling and clean city boasts beautiful architecture around a dazzling river and up against a beautiful great lake. An enormous history of loss and triumph flows through Chicago like the beautiful river walk that locals and tourists can... Continue Reading →
"Intimacy", poems and photograph by: EricksonNoticing Things-I laugh at your smileand smile in your laugh. Crinklesnear your eyes. I’m high. -Brotherly Terrain-Friend leaves. Desert sunScorches me. Sands flood beliefs.Claw to oasis.-Sex Addiction-Flesh erupts. MountainOf veins pulse in love. Breath caught. Night leaves me. Alone. -Thanks for reading, Erickson
A tide has breached my heart, poem and photograph by: EricksonIt washed me onto shore, and I felt my own bubbles pop on brittle sand.I was thrown back into the water, by rough fisherman hands. I panic, even while I breathe. Change is a lot more intense than a newfound breeze.It becomes the ocean waves... Continue Reading →
"Clock Hands" and photograph by: Erickson.The day bubbles your thin body.Tremble and look away.And in light, the sun and moon dance.Calendar tears a page.-The skin around your chin erodes.Grandma, what would you say?When you were first to look at me.Convince a sloth to chase.-Orange hues blur the hills.Same colors fought since specs were life.Time, caught... Continue Reading →
A new beginning, a shedding skin.The sun is close and intimatelike a fireplace.An ignited blazein a cabin, stacked like Lincoln Logs on my bedroom floor.A delightfully creaky cabin, surrounded by pines that stretch out the sky,I stretch my scarred hands wide.We point past the clouds; may he bring us the truth…But the clouds shed too.Delicate... Continue Reading →
Writing Erickson - Adventure + Writing Blog 