Flight

“Half poet, half mad, half terrified, half ecstatic. Exhausted at the beauty of words, fascinated that I still haven't a clue what's going on...”

Flight means movement upon the wind, and lately Lady Wind has been up to something grand. I think she is crying with delight at what is unfolding around us. We think it is hazy with smoke, but it is merely the inner eye getting used to a new sight beyond a plastic and neon spirituality. Oxygen can get in through your open window, and when it does you will take off your shoes, put down your basket of plucked blackberries, and sit before the majestic fires of the universe. If you would rather buy a book of poetry by Elizabeth Barrett Browning at this point, I understand.

Honesty and humility are never easy for self-absorbed poets who sneak about on a thin slab of emotional ice—they think they are adept at compassion, wicked in wit, and living on the edge of a more sane world. They could also be tragically wrong, so pay no attention whatsoever to them.

In Flight, Steve presents another collection of word sculptures, poetics, and reflective nudges towards awakening, trying to be as honest and as real as a shifting beam of sunlight.