This series is bound together by the mystery of travel and adventure. A surrender to the universe, in an unspoken bond that we will be given clues as to our destination if we look deeply enough into the poetry of life ~ to hear all the movements of existence as a poem, to see all the world as a work of art that unfolds.

"Tell Me More" represents a day in New York City ~ two people finding their way through the labyrinth of the streets, its' history and its future. Finding through the city’s gardens what it means to know oneself and each-other.

The poetry was written like a journal as I stopped by cafes and park benches always with a notepad in my pocket. The people I met like characters in a novel or film and the things they said part of one long narrative that flowed like a river.

TELL ME MORE

A voice that whispers, Like a sage on the wind through the windows cracked with age, Searching for answers they want it to matter, Gather the pieces where others did shatter, See all the petals from tulips did scatter? Dropping from the sky like it was raining down ashes.

The fall of elation, Euphoria’s follies in Deus creation, Just a day in the park for Miss Polly, Old money and something sweet, Writing poetry in the New York heat.

The lightness of her feet, Like a dancer without any shoes, Loose laces, do they look loose to you? Matches lit the flame in blue.

Guru with all the answers to the labyrinths of our mind, To what kind of cult do you belong, The spiritual undoing of our finely tuned song.

Over oil, steam and grated vents, they stepped to a silent music, Missing the elevation from the pollen off the trees, The devotees waving as they leave.

Caper simmering streets, Echoing meeting place in the heat, They stopped by the tulip beds to rest, Buds that keep pattering by the beating of her chest, Morning in a poet’s corner, Printing metaphors of each other, Impressions on paper, Nobody challenges their defiant behavior.

Rest their legs from the labor, Baudelaire and his green fingers, My passionate neighbor.

Is the day another way to hide the shadows? Do the final hours before beauty is formed make up her face? New lovers embrace, No regrets.

A moment in France’s cabin, Duck of any kind, what he gets is confit, Confident cauliflowers, And moments of bliss, Picked up the ocean what she got was a kiss.

As they left ~ a question posted by the door, with a note beneath; "Tell me more Those petals told a story, but tell me more." Laurence Fuller, 2023

Poetry, Produced and Performed by Laurence Fuller Animated AI Art & Music by Laurence Fuller Curated & Produced by Animus @laurencefuller www.laurencefuller.art/web3