untitled by Patch Kelly

It was better than any movie 
that I have ever seen, all the honest emotion. 
All the minute details emotionally registered,
now surfaced. 

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