That paper, tear it. Concentrate.
Rip, fray edges, cut smaller pieces from that pile. Piece it like piecework or patch it patchwork. Sharp scissors bend the smooth shape—funny.
A multi-colored form emerges out of sheer darkness— rambling through my mind it bids me: construct the woman you want to be or need to see. Concentrate/ think RB or KJM. This piecework, this patchwork, this woman sat in stone—stains at the edge of conscious consideration.
Ripped, torn, frayed, fragile, she emerges blue-black, head titled on broad shoulders with blended bottom butt of purple. Now rethink that shape, those eyes, that hair, those tights, that paper. A big legged woman singing the blues of yester year. Rub gently into place/ think RB or KJM.