Ghost Faces, Doubtful Gifts

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Inside joke (x 3), that

I cleaned plum pen and filled it with plum ink cleaned brass blue pen filled it w my favorite ink brown ink and put them and the tablet into the backpack and wrote for an hour while Earthgirl watercolored in a meadow, this unlocked typed grids to color, so not fuck me

< Why I cleaned my pens

Also too

I'm bursting YAY! but scary sorta

OLD ALBUM

Tom Clark

No past bears presents to equal being here.
Put that book away. Ghost faces, doubtful gifts.
Word apparitions washed ashore to perish
As life roars by in blue reverie blurs,
Tulips incandescent as the rain that beats them
When March storms unleash this wild dance of forms.
Presence comes before being, being before
There was ever a you or me. Ancient
Grief will go from you as from sorrowing songs
Sorrow goes, leaving nothing for you
To whom everything belongs because your poor
Defenseless inner self has gaily sailed
Into the room like all the modern languages
Coming down to us, so you could say these things.