Stephen Rozo on Clubhouse

Bio

The body withers
Like a dry stalk in search of rain
In a cloudless sky

Moments of past pleasure
Play out
Like a silent movie festival

A litany of past sins
And wrongdoings linger
In late afternoon light

You reach out to try
To touch
Like a blind man would

What has been lost
Perhaps the antiquarian smell of old books

all to say

that I'm afraid

When we abandon
Our bodies to love’s moment
Time forgets our names

How were we to know

Goodbye was always there in the background?

That gesture no one masters

My silent goodbyes

The muted night

Shoos them away like flies

There’s a farewell

Afraid of defeat

Hiding in the rain

At the same restaurant

There’s a separation

Terrified of a clean slate

Now some teardrops

Awash with disconnects

The memory of all those gazes

The memory of all those words

That were afraid to stand up

Stepping stones to...

What is the correct way to close forbidden doors?
 

 

 

 



I'm always excited to chat with artists!
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