Sometimes I Just Pick Up Scissors And Run

Figurative Oil Painting
24″ x 30″


a street lamp illuminating nothing

a shift almost imperceptible

did you feel it in your chest

i will speak quiet and low so only you can hear me

the snowfall has a deafening silence

can you hear it roaring in your ears

no echos cascade down these concrete canyons

my ears ring with trying to hear something

a bird a mouse an insect

something anything with the live stuff of this


all i can hear now is the machine song

drowning out the sound of my breath

poetry by Philip McAdam