Prospector

I wonder often what do you do with them, the many jewels mined from my rankled mind. Jagged edged gems scraping, my brain further chafing as you unearth each disturbing bauble. I wonder often if your excavation reveals some personal fruit or some prized, torture bred treasure. What do you do with your collection of stone and marl? Do you display your torment born trinkets? Do they sit in your studio, up high on a laminated shelf and buffed to painstaking perfection, reflecting the light of your merciless labor Herr lover’s pride and joy?