The disclaimerShare magazine is the art and literary magazine of Kennesaw State University and is published bi-annually. The publication is funded through student activity fees and is free of charge to all members of the KSU campus community.

all design and placement of submissions is done by the edi-torial board and does not interpret the artwork in any way. Copyright of all submissions reverts to the original artist after Share is published.

All literary and art works are self expressions of those who cre-ated them and are not intended to represent ideas or views of the Share staff or its advisors. They do not reflect the views of the staff, administration, student body, ksu publications board or the board of regents of the university system of georgia.

“Imagination is more important than knowledge.

Knowledge is limited, while imagination encopasses the world”

Albert Einstein

courtney parkins11 A Time Spent11 In Vested Power 14 Jamaica Sunrise15 Love is Mathematically Impossible16 Man Affects Destiny

jason william whatley21 Static

andrea williams23 The Real World

laura l. dunn25 Natural Hallucinations

peggy fowler 27 A Day in the Sun28 Blackberry Winter28 White Noise Road

john roper 31 Seeking wisdom from a pitcher and a cigarette32 Dirty Hairy Bush33 Ode to my shadow

laura overstreet35 Long Ago

nate hamby37 Untitled

chandler gaunt 39 Night Figures

reinaldo del valle41 Amor 342 Days Like These

abbey swanson 45 Trouble in Mind46 Love with the Sun

phillip maury 49 When Size Matters51 Love’s Perception

paul boshears 53 Pilot, A Love Poem in February55 How to be Everything to Everyone All at Once

Poetry and Prose

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fatima abdullah20 High Walls 22 Lies in Shadows

jamie bon24 Perfectly Sane

tammy copeman26 Sunlight26 Moondust26 Moonlight

jeff gaines30 untitled

laura jeanneret34 The Sacred Marriage36 Fruitman

ester e. aycock 38 Dragonfly

ariel smith40 Sleeping Christopher

nick Stacey 44 Reflections47 The Fish

eddie smucygz 48 Sight 48 Second Sight50 Flight

kenneth adams 52 Sea Anemone54 Design is Kinky II

Visual Arts

Concept, Creation, and Design by Kenneth Adams

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This magazine is dedicated to the late

Courtney Parkins II. (1978-2003)Beloved poet, artist, friend, brother, and son.

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A Time SpentFigure that. 25% of what I do is breaking me into 75% less human. 20% of what I say shades me from being 55% more human. And 32% of what I think stifles me and the outcome 23% human. Preparing to thrill ya man with these hidden things that are left. Unleash the paraphernalia big bertha and todos los hermanos de la starship fleet for a trip-along. Bring out the jewels that taste so sweet and lace them when Mary with the one eye returns to intensity the journey with a fill bong. The bags are packed and it’s like rolling out to the car. It’s the KB’s, BT’s and bring some CD’s for the entranced sing-along. The car is packed like a tight bowl with some of my best buds lick a shot Corey, Kevin, Myles, Chris, and Pat the friendship spot is where I’m at. There was not muchroom in the car for movement the only space to be seen was the pavement with the white lines dashing by. OK we’re down to the last drop of orange juice, last sheet of song Omni highlights on stage with Korn lets drop the 8th bomb. Stepped outa de car and toked a fresh breath realizing I was back at 215 Henry dorm, Awhhyeh the party’s on. Now under resination catching a star gaze the whole world’s my enterprise as I lay back and visualize the effects that enter my eyes. Those were the yester-years of some crazed days in our lives.

In Vested PowerI’m a survivor chosen for the future yes I’m a survivor Don’t need to be from where I’m standing foreign land. Don’t need to be one hundred surpassing the average human life span.Don’t need to be starring on TV playing the role of dysfunctional human interactions

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voted off the island because majority rule and minority is lower than a 3/5 fraction. Chosen for the future I am a survivor. Who wants to be equal? Don’t you know life isn’t a free fare. You have to pay for the ride and hope that the coaster doesn’t exit a break in the tracks and that’s just the first one of many attacks. When in the middle where negative and positive attract neutrality act is how to watch the opponents die out in combat. When did due-process become suspicion for any open mined talk of freedom fighting hand to hand day one resistance. I’m different from a first impression. Focus out the blurriness, Black and white is a hit and miss, Drawing lines no gray matter when the jury rest with statute and prowess. I’m a survivor so who them wan’n come test, I plead no contest because what is freedom if it can’t be me? My stature of limitations up held by the finest death squad wearing blue suits and under laying proofs. While they set to prove, I’m working hard to post my degree on the wall in my office over my desk watching out and dodging el Diablo no telling what Amodue to keep them from putting forty-one holes in my spirit and seeing my dreams fall through. A paperweight holding down my ways but weighing in heavy on the justice scales. I’ll have to trim down and prune back my hair; that way I’m fit to grace my presence as a survivor for the future in the courtroom chair. All for doing nothing, just sitting there. No care wha dem say, no care whe them a go do! Could have been the man that shouted hatred at the pool that dark night.(What line) Could have been the bus driver projecting a slur that never caught my ear just right. (Oh that line) Could have been the rowdiness in the parking lot represented by jacked up trucks,

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confederate flags, and hate that stared then spoke with a southern accent. (I’m walking that line) Could have been the off duty cop thought I looked suspicious while walking briskly to my car after taking photos for art class (I’m crossing that line) Could have been the person that said no offense, but you know how they are. (that line still exists) One in the same, what it was and what it could have been. Not for the first time. Babylon, Officer White come flex with a gun in my face. Pulled over because I was black styling and fit for racial profiling. Now who wants freedom, all rights reserved. No freedom for me. Look you got what you deserved, no innocence until a lawyer can prove bookem boys we got a warrant to serve. Black style, my race, my face was in profile. The lion’s mane my spiritual headdress. My skin tone black the weapon and a fortress. Stop to think it must have been something else that cop’s mindset was fixed on. Stop to think there was probably no cause for accusation.I’m a souljah survivor chosen for the future night sticks, fists, and boots leave bodies battered buried and bruised. Try to break jah spirit and a souljah will turn you in. Side-out, players take positions get ready for a home team service. I’m crossing that line to be a survivor. I see Cobb County gave a clueless klutz of a man a badge, blue suit, boots, and a li-cense to point a gun. Now officer Ray never received sensitivity training in code that’s police department jargon for racial discrimination. Now officer Ray got a badge number 1487 pulling over and tacking on charges to a Kennesaw State University student. Caught up in harassment is where I found myself, slam, that’s my face pressed against

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the van and with another to the ground. The asphalt eating my face the first time I was publicly disgraced. What an embarrassment I’m laying down with boots in my back; I think officer Ray wants my wrists to crack and my neck to snap. Fit to be a survivor and that takes learning, Black styling is fit for racial profiling in Cobb County. I can get arrested for doing nothing these days. If your suit of armor is blessed in the dark and a ray of blue lights pull you over your best bet is to dodge the bullets aiming at your chest if you know Al Amin. Truly blessed to outlive the intentions of a badge behind a gun. It was a set up the way the sun lay set to sky. I see the horizon as it nears a blend and end of lines. I am a survivor chosen for the future. Now who wants freedom all rights reserved. Freedom for me I must be living injustice.

Jamaica SunriseJamaica sun don’t riseJamaica son don’t rise and spill all your brilliance on the western skies. Where do you go draping over the night? I went to bed praying for the eternal father to bless the land and woke up in the land of the free home of the brave. Keeping all my comforts, what about the old day I never decided but I stayed.Jamaica son don’t riseJamaica sun you melt the children’s ice cream in the cones. Put sweat on the brows of workers and the people searching. Cast shadows in front of a new days planning. Too bright or too hot you can’t keep friends in all of them.Jamaica sun keep the days alightJamaica son don’t rise

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It’s the gaze from your eyes that your goodwill and intentions transpire.De people dem tired fe see corruption of bad mindsWhea keep on misleading. Money did de ya but dem turn cherry big eye and want more inna dem hand. We dun nung she we well waan change Oonu no shame nuff people waan eat but pot holes claim miles of feat. Oonu no shame pickney waan shoes food and well kept schools. Oonu no shame how much debt can you serve on your plate. Oonu no shame gi de box juice to some while you dine with champagne Jamaica sun don’t riseJamaica son me be oonu walk good mistakes are there to be made but you don’t have to go alone wid you mout push up and vexJamaica sun rise regardlessAriba de los montanas azule Ariba de los rios Ariba de la genteSi tu quieras, ariba de todos Jamaica sun don’t rise, wave your banner Yellow, green, and blackJamaica son don’t rise, just come back

Love is Mathematically ImpossibleRelative to the sun here I am here I lay one astronomical unit in absolute value taking measurement of the time called life. Forced to watch the inverse function, humans divided by other humans to the negative power. Rationalize to integrate consequence into another in effort to cover up the lack of in-trospection seen by the self. And it seems like going to sleep reduces the problem to its lowest terms. Then I woke up this morning under the impression that the illusion I was getting was from under your skin and it made me look past the careless errors.

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No matter what sort I would find it. The question where, when, why and who’s doing it. Impossible, but hey that’s not my problem and like that I wiped the condensation a projection of your problems from my eyes. The foggy sensation is over. Step off the rights the infringement of a fractional portion in proportion to the outer limits and my piece of pie. Knowing that the aura electro static cloud around my being is nothing more than a repellent but only to make you flip over turn around and then be attracted to me. Call it false impressionism, a short era in the context of a defense mechanism, in mag-nitude relevant to my every position calculating direction. So step back there’s no problem seek premonition; acquired In an instant it was bio-logical instinct to drop the dependent variable and create language acquisition. Why I devised it Algorithms In my head where I extrapolated it From my mouth I perfused it In your head you confused it Sum it up to understand that love is mathematically impossible.

Man Affects DestinyPalomitas, Papas, Nachos Palomitas, Papas, Nachos Es duro trabajo pero she’s a gunna shooten for the target she’s gunna make it, even though her pockets got holes. Points fired and shots taken, a lesson to the learning she can’t just waltz in. It’s the visa that’s got the platinum ticket and cards are paying off with gold. A young lady wishes, dreams were sold, because it’s the green that she needs and the application, that open ticket, empty pocket and vetoed. Palomitas, Papas, Nachos. Back to the family, the labor, the life, wanting and escaping the retirement plan

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for the old. The children keep telling here that TV. land has everything they need: beauty, money, jobs without employees, and all the rights to build a dream. PasaLe! PasaLe! Coming like say TV. culture can’t take over. Saddle in tight dishing out cable access swinging both ways World wide enter prize touch-tone remotes, and touch screen devices. Tone deaf to the broadcasting systems siren hypnotic warning her culture under crisis; a future cries this. Es duro trabajo. Palomitas, Papas, Nachos A placement on the economic status is about to get run over while she waits her turn. Wait for the light to turn. Wait for the light, but it’s green go, but it’s green go, que dicen hay un disquento. Saying yes is the only way they buy labor intensive goods and services. Palomitas, Papas, Nachos, left over from nights before. The street sweeper comes by to clean out the gutters. Eyes turn to shutters, but they do not close, instead somewhat like blinders to focus on the superimposed. And yeah it’s a cover-up, sift through the butter up the bread is burnt. Darker than melanin in skin, black, but where’s the wheat and whole grain. Instead, seeing plain making her stress proportional to the strain. Out standing is a grin in her face and a bad strain of stereotypes preceding her name. And she says, man even all that can’t affect or distract her sense from the major premise, destiny. And the more she hears it...Bargain Bargain Equals Equals Exploitation Exploitation. Looking through iridescent eyes out of all these colors light blue has a different function. This organ focuses on the exterior, somebody’s inferior Even though we’re on the same side we’re drawing the line ok and divided in the mind. American eyes American eyes let’s watch us Americanize! American eyes American eyes let’s watch us Americanize! Swing both ways, with two fingers poking holes in Mexico’s sides. Drop off those pants and give the cleaners a try.

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Sewing up those holes, bridging the gaps; now it says us on the inseam, and for the next time there’s a coupon to redeem. Americanize Americanize now we’re both using American eyes! Americanize American-ize now we’re both using American eyes! Palomitas, Papas, Nachos one cost, low cost, now cost un peso. Esta es muy duro trabajo to obtain the dream once more. Points fired and shots taken, she hears another convoy never made it in. Lives taken and no faces to show that it was pain staking. La cara that she wears is a reactor to Americanize those eyes that say they all look the same. Over the rainbow the big arches came with fast crew labor cooking up la comida. She needs to dash in a jiffy head up and move. Wanting to find her pot of gold. Escaping the fossilized job opportunity. Wanting to take part in the productivity. Escaping to provide para la familia, la communidad, y para la raza, es muy duro para una vida. Taking jobs that us American eyes take no pride: Some...construction, farm crop cultivation, bathroom cleaning, in public buildings sweeping. Shots fired and points taken with plans to dig a tunnel and cross the border, but she didn’t know dogs could sniff out that Mexicans work harder. Now the daughter left to carry out the work order and to be shot by a federally soldier. No bodies, no condolences back to the families. Left on the line to dry rot, and carry out the impression, to keep on suppressing, to reduce any further intention, a Pavlovian reminder of demarcation. Yes Yes Ya Basta enough has happened to stop the line of work order Yes Yes Ya Basta.

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Share Magazine 2003

Artists and Poets

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Lies In Shadowsprint. 10” x 14.5”

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StaticCascading white blotchesAppear to disappearA surreal activity surrounds meGrey matter is all aroundFaces protruding up from the groundThe static becomes meOnly seeing what you want to seeIn the vast realityThings tune in from time to timeA surreal activity surrounds meGrey matter is all aroundFaces protruding up from the groundThe static becomes meA brow starts to form in the cloudAs it comes more definedHorns are outlinedDrawing down to form the other featuresShinny checksAnd a smile to greetAs I slowly realize those black eyes piercing meThe faces all formed to one The devil’s demiseA surreal activity surrounds meGrey matter is all aroundFaces protruding up from the groundThe static becomes meMy only hope is that I die before the static becomes me

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High Wallsmixed media. 36” x 23”

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The Real WorldThe wind opened up the Door.Can you see the Door opening?You have to believe me-you see.The day over the window came like windThe trees fell helplessly to the floor for three minutes,As the leaves of the trees moved quietly over the mountain, speaking Italian.Birds flew like candy in the sun, over the bright cornerof red, yellow, and orange-with blue skies coming forth.How do skies roll over the mountain like billows?However, the sunlight and rainbow are chickens-Afraid of the dogs that vomited up last Spring’s newness.Green days folded over in September like stones of decisions.Detection of people-Who walk together feeding, feeling, fighting and growing upLike birds, happily signing over the right wing of life.

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Perfectly Saneoil on canvas. 24” x 30”

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Natural HallucinationsDare to ponder what I am as you're riddled into a stream of thoughts enter those thoughts onto a clear unmarked path as I explain my undefined purpose

Often I find I'm used uncontrollably while facilitating the creation of my next whimsical plot

Even inside a tiny space I can be two or three separate worlds visionary gratification exceeds to unexplainable levels of abstract concepts resting all the while you and others conceive of me the majestic hallucinations have natural design I flourish in my images while nodding in my journey grasp these thoughts and ponder

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Sunlight, Moondust, Moonlightaquatint prints. 7” x 5”

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A Day In The Sunmy words are cowards.they shove me away as I reach for them.when I see the look of disgust in his eyesand wish I were at home in the hammock,feeling the brush of the piney wind on my thighwith the smell of garden basil washing over meand tasting the bowl of just-picked plumsunderneath the rustling of sun striped leaves.But instead I am here,tasting the hatred that chills my skinresenting this Joe Blow and his Colorado attitude – and I can see how he still wants mein his own short-bus kind of way.But I’ve gotten fat off the emptiness that’s there,and he calls me out on my lack of yoga this week.The delicate cradle of diplomacymade the flame burn coldand he gulps the fingers of fire down his throatand spits the ice back in the glasswaiting patiently for the shards to fall;and they will fall like acid rain on her cheeks.oh, the loving hatred for which she yearnswill make her a woman somedayand she says that she needs him.The hammock folds its arms around meand the dark clouds tumble down.

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Blackberry WinterA shaky wooden branch on a triangle of grass,unaware of the exhaust and road rage rolling by,you sit next to me in those navy blue work pantsthat have been cut and frayed into long shorts.A paint-stained sweatshirt hangs to your knuckles,shaking from the moody winds of this blackberry winter,as you slowly whittle down that enormous butter pecan waffle cone,one single drop falls to the navy blue fabric.The contrast so sharp and severeit’s a melted pearl of pure white blood.I want to scrape it off and save it,put it in a box, tighten the lid, turn the latchso that the memory there is safe,to promise that there will be proof one dayof us sitting here in this spot with the sugar melting on our tongues,of you letting that single white drop stay there as if it belonged,just like you let me stay here with you that year, as if it fit,us being together, scraping colored chalk on asphalt,and tasting your kisses as if they were mine to taste,you let me stay as if I belonged – and now here we are,talking of things that don’t matter, as long as I have your voice – until I can’t take it anymore, and vanquish the drop with my napkinyou jump as if the touch of my hand were holy waterand it burns you. Burns you, so that you are afraid.Crumbling the napkin, I walk to the car and wait.My throat itchesand my legs are cold.

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White Noise RoadToday I slipped into a filmy, flowy dresspulled my hair back in a summer knot,splashed my face with a little colorand shimmered in and out of sleep.

I woke up to buy some lottery tickets,turned the ignition, rolled down the windows,and let the wind sweep down my bare arms,singing “Brown Eyed Girl” like no one could see or hear.

My bare feet curled their toes rebelliouslyaround the gas more than the brakesuntil I stopped to buy a Popsicle, no more or less,and the cherry juice rolled to my elbow.

The white noise of the wind and the enginemade the rest of my world disappear, and I thinkthere is no room for anyone else, my thoughtsneed the room in the back seat to sort themselves out.

Some Farmer Ted with a freshly turned fieldmakes me smell the chocolaty sweetness of red clayand sometimes I think I can understand those womenwho crave the taste of it when they’re pregnant.

And the is greener now than it’ll ever bewhen all the green jumps out before all the leaves unfoldas if it can’t be contained one minute longerand the smell of freshly mowed onions fills the air.

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Untitledgraphite and watercolor. 14” x 18”

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Seeking wisdom from a pitcher and a cigaretteI’m looking for God on the street cornerI’m looking for God in meI seek divine wisdom on the T.V.I look for truth in a woman’s smileI long for peace on Earth And child- like innocence in the hearts of everyone‘cause then we’ll all go to heavenlet this energy swoop down like a bird of preythe military should spend billions manufacturing good will

I’m looking for a woman who can make me laughA lady with the soul of a queenI search for a soul mate And return with lessOf a soul

I’m looking for enlightenmentI really need to know what that means.

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Dirty Hairy BushI'm still having an argument in my head with a person I left hours ago and I guess that's my own problem.I'm still trying to reason with someone who insists that bully wars are justified.I have a diatribe in me and it's got to come out or its acidity will eat its way out.I am scared, fearful of the people that accompany me on this hurling ball of rock. My co-conspirators in the best of all possible worlds.Reason has taken to the back seat of the bus. Segregated without the means to boycott, how would it exactly?Reasonable actions are subjective and thus cannot be assumed identical to all, but there are indications in a society that result in the term reasonable... reasonable people do not ignore starving families and then rain down depleted radioactive particles on them.Reasonable people do not argue over the adornment of a piece of fabric and tie uplegislative bodies in these arguments in a sad attempt to relive a hundred and fifty year old failed revolution.Reasonable people do not make up reasons to go to war and dub them a preemptive strikeagainst a country that hadn't the means to strike. That's like hitting another person forlooking at you the wrong way on an insane scale.Reasonable people do not need the word theory defined for them and thus don't argue over the theory of evolution and an omnipotent creator being breathing life into a pile ofmud.Of course I am assuming that I am reasonable and that is up to further debate.

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Ode to my shadowThe sun shines through the leaves making speckled shadows on the ground moving when the wind blowsThis disruption of the sun’s path is not meant with disdain, the leaves quake for their nourishment devouring the beams of radianceWhen I look into the sky full of sun I squint, my thirst is less than the leaves. I block the sun with my flesh as I drink with purposeMy flesh does not speckle in shadow or dance with the moving of the wind. It follows, circumnavigates my formPlaying with my perception, tall, short, lean, fat until the sun appears to recede under the horizon the Earth turningAnd its gone, shadow only appearing around street lamps and headlights until morning it finds me again

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The Sacred Marriagecharcoal. 16” x 22”

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Long AgoI knew her long ago.We were friends.Anything and everything Was shared between us two.There were no secrets Except those toldIn a small notebook That we kept.

A movie,A song,A vacation,A childhood.

it was a life long ago;A life of happinessAnd of pain.One sole confidant,Trusted and true.What should have beenEnded too soon.

Distance and time Two deadly weaponsMade things harderMore superficial.Fast for her,Slow for me,Fast for me,Slow for her.It still goes on,But there is change.People change,Beliefs change,Lives change,But we go onLiving and lovingDreaming yet knowing That those days,That those ways Are memories.

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Fruitmancharcoal. 13.5” x 16”

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UntitledRain plummets thumping on the ground.Pitt-pattering toward me.Cool wind hissing in my face, chillingMy senses, and tightening my skin.Waiting in the downpour, alone.The willow wept in my direction,Wanting my affection, The birchDid the same, leaning overhead.It’s leaves dripping tears of regretUpon my head. Then she came, headlights growing from shadows, bright as day (not this day)The storm flung one last gust, throwingAll her ailments in one final waveOf fury. The tears retreated, sprinkling lightlyand the leaves erected to their unburdenedPositions about their trees. The storm had passed

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Dragonflyphotogram. 5” x 5”

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Night FiguresThis one is real. I know because I was there.

A glare;bright, as a car passes us in the night.It swishes by us fast. My daddy’s van swerves.Dust flies behind us. My knuckles white, clutching the toy figurine.A song plays, loud-he sings along.An empty road ahead and behind. No cars and still we swerve.An empty van; two seats, daddy and I.An empty bottle, or two, jingles at my feet.A promise to momma-home before dark.My grip tightens around the toy-IT can be saved.“Don’t worry”, I whisper to it. No reply.The song ends, the singing stops, he looks at me.The dust flies again, the toy breaks in my hand.

Somewhere a mother cries for her child.

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Sleeping Christophergraphite. 20” x 16”

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Amor 3It is not the lancing thornsof your garden locks that haunt mewhen I cling to your nakednesslike a virus uncontrolled.

It is not the passion brewingrainstorms in your eyes that haunt mewhen I fall like a fog of dampness,words of dew and skin covering your sacred lands

It is not the infinite laughterthat spirals like a tunnel windand whistles your face amongst the crowd of leaves.

It is not the swagger of your bosomdancing to the human rhythm as I sleep.It is not. It is the absence.

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Days Like TheseIt always seems to rain on days like these,days that carry the smell of her haunting laughterin the vanilla breaths of the rampant air.

On days like these,I know nothingbut to keep company with my pen.We talk for hours,sharing stories of sunny days,days without the troublesome rain.

It always seems to rain on days like these.I watch the piano playon the suffocating skin of the streets,mirror bullets in unison with the notes;they sing with voices of winter,cold like shattered ice,an avalanche of frozen despair;the call to me,embodying my shivering image;and I see her facein the music that it plays.

I am alone on these daysas I cannot fly into the face of the sun,grounded on broken wings;I stand a condemned prisoner,sentenced to roam amongthe seaweed moss,the damp concrete sweating of honey tears,

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the drops of water that hangon the cliffs of the vacant chairs,the nameless souls burning of smoke,the endless floods that crash into meat the slightest breath of storm.

It always seems to rain on days like these,watching the parade of black umbrellas swimming in sensual sadness;the lost people,running for the protection of nature’s rooted limbs;the cotton clouds,covered in dark molasses;the enraged rivers,clogging the arteries of the breathless city with their anger,and the perfumed girl,who seems to have never existed,mounted on raindrops,riding the songs of the bothersome rain.

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Reflectionsgraphite. 11” x 14”

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Trouble in MindI want to wake you up and tell you all the things I’vewritten in letters.

But I worry that the thought may cross your mind,that sleep is better than sound.

I want to lay down next to you,and whisper in your ear The song I’ve held on repeat for days.

Excuse me now, if I act a little strange. I am overwhelmedI love….I am passionate…I am awkward…

never imagined owning white flags, I have already surrendered to you….

In Love with the SunIn the dark

I scream to you through these concrete walls!!My chest heaves with angerThe nature of reality is a cruel bitch-

By candlelight, I live-a pale comparison to the glowing intensity of my love!I creep through these halls, mystified by my horrific existence.

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Once I thought the very stone trembled with my presence-I know now it has always been my heavy foot.I spastically move through the garden- terrifying sight to those breathing souls whom I devour with my thirsty machineOnly to stumble back inside, under the moonlightunsatiated within my cold, bloody corpse

I never sleepI know she’s out there, peeking at measking about meSmiling, knowing she’ll be the end of me….I suck blood out of anything slower than me- but I know she is worse….

Once I knew her, aloneMy love would blind me, burning her image in my indoor sight-She played with me…She teased me…She warmed me….She left me…..

I long for her touch…..Sometimes I stand by the door tempted to open it and show her how ugly I have become, hiding in this darkness!!!I have gotten so close to thrusting it open- my hand on the turned knob, my gut filled with inertia-But I am ashamedI don’t want to make her hideso slumped in the shadows of my inescapable inability, I scream at myselfshe’s laughing she’s laughingI usually sit there all day, dazed and tired- awaiting nightfall where I am a king!!But oh, I’d give it up if I knew she’d bath me in glory againYears, decades, who knows how long it’s beenMy heart still breaks every minute I do not know how much longer I can take this!I am as weak as the smallest mouseand I hate her for it.

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The Fishgraphite. 14” x 11”

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Sightink wash, 11” x 15”

Second Sightink wash, 11” x 15”

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WHEN SIZE MATTERS

SUPERSIZED FRIES AND A DIET COKE

Self-starvation into a size six petite

Brushing then flushing down a delicious dinner

B u l i m i a , Anorexia, OBESITY

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Flightink wash, 15.5” x 15.5”

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Love’s PerceptionShe calls my fat,Soft muscle.French kiss awakenings,With the coming of Our dawn.

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Sea Anemoneporcelain. 30” x 31” x 29”

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Pilot, A Love Poem in FebruaryThey built this device, see, that can maneuver into the esoteric

It sees things, lets you know, through a series of gaskets and dusty levers, andsteam;fleshy almost, and it feels like flying sometimes,I wanted to know about us.

Some Orpheus Cult built it. I got in her,they squirted blue liquid in the corner of my eyes.

Sounded just like cicadas when it started, I fell asleep—I woke in a blanket igloo; I like it here, next to you.

I’d slipped into a situation much larger than I,all I could do was revel in the sensation of falling over:

my heart thumped and it was all I could do to sit there and watch, in that chair, with my goggles, grimy and gritty— covered in the mechanic, animal, parts of that Esoteric Device

It showed me, through some ingenious mesh of muscle fiber and plastic,that we had been cut by the same Carpenter. I saw that we had strings skatingbetween us.He plucked us, His giant hands covered our glossy pine bodies…

…and so we’ve stayed to this day. How can I tell you this?

I usually keep a bag full of words handy, but every time I open my mouth, theCold comes in—and the only thing not warm is Outside.

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Mmhhh...Design is Kinkyraku clay. 25” x 27” x 21”

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How to be Everything to Everyone All at OnceI sat there and watched his hair shimmer and, like the robot I always wanted,noted the aperture change as my focus shifted to the cars whizzing down Sherman’s Line.“Somebody must be listening to Pet Sounds,”I registered as the children in the backseatscraned their necks upward and to the left.In the same crane fashion as those aloe plants on my window sill,both with Mesozoic, jagged, consummate V-shaped teeth.He explained entropy to me earlier and it seemed to us both that the purposeof dynamic systems was to ultimately encase everything in an enamel ofhomogeneity.My brain clicked/whirred, an, in anticipation of his confession,I thought about sex with strangers and love-making between confidantes.I wanted to be indignant about it all: Here, these experiences make me special,maintaining these walls makes strangers good neighbors. So I could lie just beyond the sameness, roll over the monad road and transcend the mundanity of best friends.Of course, I’d just wake up in a modular home, with a mullet haircut,a bottle of cold medicine,and an aloe plant’s spiny hands holding me motheringly.Then I’d know: the best loves are spent in a heat-hazy puff,while smoking cigarettes, running, past pencil-thin soft pines – imagining the sequoias are just ahead.They’re loved furtively, with righteousness, cleaving through kudzu,busting kimchee pots buried in the neighbor’s yards,they push toe-headed kids over in their brilliance.He finished his testimony,a warm smile was shared, I held him close, kissed him on the mouth,breathed his scent one last time, tasted her on him,ran my fingers through his thin hair,this was a moment to be cherished.

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We are all students, teachers, and staff of Kennesaw State University and we all have ideas, thoughts, and feeling of what role we play in this societal group. As we begin to examine what our current KSU com-munity has established, merge on top frames of new thought patterns and structures for change that we will create in the near future, one can begin to feel a surge of magnetic engergy that will attract oth-ers to help growth and strength for the KSU body. So, as our minds begin to magnetize and change at expontential rates, we can find ourselves at a place of opportunity. Now, when we find that opportunity which is suitable to our needs and desires we can begin to ask the best questions that produce the best results for the KSU community.

Share’s internal community has been on an artistic journey to find the best opportunities that will give the KSU body an outlet for creative expression in all forms and manners. We have brought some of the most talented poets, musicians, and artist together on the KSU campus to celebrate freedom of expres-sion in some of the most dynamic and unique ways. Share would like to thank all the participants who contributed so greatly to our purpose.

With the greatest thanks and appreciation,

Kenneth Adams

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Editor-In-Chief

Art Director

Literary Editors

Promotions

Designers

Web Master

Kenneth Adams

Samuel Parker

Paul BoshearsQuincy FlowersRyland Johnson

Joshua StainthorpJason Whatley

Laura PattiGregory Phillips

Alex Danaila

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