It was better than any movie
that I have ever seen, all the honest emotion.
All the minute details emotionally registered,
The difference in perspective, and the way
that I was the one to remember the words.
It was easy for these faded pictures to slip
my mind. I had lost my own image somewhere.
The colors and the textures had all faded
into gray-like smoke. In surfacing effortlessly
to new ground once familiar
is how I found true miracles.
The vivid colors that have returned to my flesh.
I can see me again, in all the radiance that leaves
the pigmentation of my presence. Becoming a
mirror of the monster of the nightmare mothers
that imagination had created. In the wholeness
that I once thought that I had found, I lost
my true perspective in pounds.
The brightness of my reality in inks has illustrated
my apodictic world. The banderole
of who I once was, who I am, and where I came from.
My animation is a diagram; a correspondence
to irrecoverable stars that still shine brilliantly,
more acutely than before.
I’ve pilled the hues from the inside out, extending them
to those that surround me. Screening them blanketed
I see the images now.
Graphically intense and saturated. I am more
than a component of the perplexities. More
than the composite. When strangers pass by,
they recognize me immediately.
And without all of my parts
I am hale and hearty.
I can be healthy again.
Without all of my parts, I am whole.
— Patch Kelly