nothing from the heart

1 ripples of colours racing hysterically against dark sky works of fire, smoke-flowers for the romantique the red one is a rose, says little prince from nothing springs out nothing a small image at first, always from the heart bursts from a point in time as if time actually existed from a tiny curl in the back of your head an explosion sets off down it runs to the nape of the neck round the tip of the nose down again to finger tips expanding into sleepless nights waking dreams, senseless pains no turning back like the growth of a rose it grows blooms, wanes, fades, like any rose is it really a rose, could be a drop of blood falling onto water, swimming out, changing shapes caught somewhere in time blood no more but not nothing anymore no turning back now that the flowers have gone traces of smoke and clouds then this part of the sky dark and silent like before nothing now nothing here but never nothing anymore a-rose-is-a-rose-is-a-rose_20x20_1920 2 nothing from nothing, no point in time, no singularity bursting ever after in a universe there before your eyes, before you make something of this and that, no turning back no turning no turning and yes, it could. nothing is the only thing that is the same always. nothing is the same, always nothing is ever the same, no rose is a rose alone, no rose is a rose is a rose by any other. where have all the flowers gone? nothing but traces nothing always like nothing you’ve ever seen. now no there there no then here neither here nor there, it could be nothing it could be that it rose yes, it could be that -- a rose rose red like my love, nothing like my love. Debby Sou Vai Keng, Macao Steven Schroeder, Chicago a note on the process
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