When the ones and zeros
No longer add up
And the printing press
Runs out of flesh
And the ink
Has nowhere to run
I’ll pick up the pieces
Build a temple of song
Made of discarded words
Metal vowels and consonants
Foraged from fields
Like seeds for migrating birds
And the truth that reflects
On these mirrored pages
Will cut deeply down to the bone
Like mist and like light
Like all that I am
And all that I’ve ever known
About The Author
Matt Beard is an artist most known for his paintings that portray hundreds of locations across the length of the entire California coastline. He spends weeks at a time alone in his van traveling the state and looking for new vistas upon which to plant his easel. All that time on the road has really messed with his head, and so he’s taken to writing poetry as a way to cope with his increasing anxiety about parking tickets or overnight camping violations.
