I Am Santo

Fiction, poetry, music and mindscape pictures by creative artist Jason Santo

Our sky is then and endless,
A stretch of blue day
And a limitless reach
Into overwhelming history
Among the shimmering winks
Of forgotten suns.
Our Earth is now and finite,
A patch of brown
Swallowed in triumphant aquamarine
And stamped by
The footfalls, fumbles and foibles
Of topspun today;
The homogenous now
Of letters never sent
And willingness eroded
By the corrosive winds of obligation.
Our heart is again and over
A thudding belief
Strung high among whisps
Of pulled cotton cirrus,
Dissipating like fates
And entwining as do limbs
Of lovers at rest.


#poem #poetry #poetic #igwriters #instawriter #writersofig #poetsofig #igpoets #igpoems #mobileartistry #creativewriting #fiction #flashfiction #writing #writer #story #shortstory #microfiction #poetrycommunity #igwriters #aerial #skyview #up #clouds #plane #airplane (at Where We Tread)

There is nothing unreasonable in love
And isn’t that what this is about?
That bubble of warmth
Like the swallow of spirits
Disarming the overcranked mind,
Lulling it like a babe at dusk
And opening the thick skin
Of jaded indifference
And such callous belief
That the heart,
Encrusted in the rigid carapace
Of longing
And resignation
Should crack its malignant shell
Despite whatever seeks to thicken
Such hardening hardship;
Those cursed miles,
The winding roads
And rage sworn hills
Between there and here,
Today and tomorrow,
Always and never.
Sweep such constructs away
Like butterflies on late summer wind
Caught in the fading gold of day
Fragile and beautiful
Demanding of sweet delicacy,
Kisses that taste of understanding;
Sweet but rich
Hinting at lusts strong enough
To crush bones and wisdom.
Let it.
Let the maddening sweep of bliss
Blind and crack
Like the rumbling caution
Of fear’s thunder
So late after the flash
Of hot white yearning.
Get struck
And live richer,
Stunned by the freedom
Of the shattered casket
The still contents of which
Once eulogized
Beats again.
There’s nothing stealing
The rhythm
Of this thrumming pulse
But the pickpocket deceptions
Of belief in limits.
Find faith
And watch wealth grow
Oh so reasonably
That it could even be
Taken for granted.

#poem #poetry #poetic #igwriters #instawriter #writersofig #poetsofig #igpoets #igpoems #mobileartistry #creativewriting #fiction #flashfiction #writing #writer #story #shortstory #microfiction #poetrycommunity #igwriters #iamwriting #words #flying #niceview #airplane #skyhigh #dusk #haze

He’d traveled because there was nothing left for him at home. Alec often wondered about the sky and how the clouds migrated from there to here, and he’d watch the trails of jets high above dissipate in the late evening sky, the sun’s gorgeous indifference coloring the world in bold magenta as the paths to elsewhere stayed bright and golden, as if hungry for ruby slippers and tin men with no heart. And here he was, heartless, worthless, hung out to dry in the waning years of life as if he’d been sentenced by a God jealous of his handle on the human experience. Because Alec wasn’t one to give up. He wouldn’t just roll over and play dead when the guillotine made its clean slice and he was dearly departed from his life. The work and pain of yesterday fueled his lust for tomorrow, and somewhere among those whispy cotton swabs dabbing the wounds of the sky was his future. Elsewhere. Not here. And he would climb onboard and find love, complete and sound; full and endearing. He would let his ears pop and his heart rise because on the other side of the trip the landing gear would deploy, buckle, roll and stop his trajectory into the new. Goddamn, he believed in the atmosphere and the limitless space between where he’d started and where he would end up. All he needed was enough fuel and a reason to take to the clouds and follow their wisdom. Alec was airborne and his heart would guide him into safe landing as long as he believed; as long as he trusted it as the pilot of what’s next and what’s better. As long as he had faith in a new destination that would heal the crash and burn of a failed past.


#poem #poetry #poetic #igwriters #instawriter #igpoets #igpoems #mobileartistry #creativewriting #fiction #flashfiction #writing #writer #story #shortstory #microfiction #literature #poetrycommunity #writersofinstagram #storyteller #airplane #plane #airport #destination (at Gone)

Desert this. Pull the ripcord and let the Earth’s drag you down, out like a child from the womb, screaming new song in the catacombs of lost hopes, a lone cry for help among the selfish whores of Babylon who count their gold before the future comes, guiding hands that feed into incisors hellbent on the gnash, the grind, the bloody, ripped tendons of landing without air, like a brick dropped into the sea. Drown, you worthless wretch, and let these failures fill your lungs like seawater, salt stinging and seizing like a lover gripping sex too hard and burning raw tension, as if the sun threw flares and murdered progress. Without accounts or the killing of time, the climaxing fool is airborne, somewhere above, falling, flailing, tugging at useless tomorrows as if the chute itself were to bring mercy, a dear friend catching the onrush of air and hate billowing in the raging atmosphere of sin. Descend and let loose the horror plaguing each decision cached like a bond, the sense trickling and each note subject to matchstick avarice. Such charnel debt in the undone climbs of now. Such an unfavorable return, to waking hours, to the land below, to routine and responsibilities stacked high like coins next to a child’s broken piggy bank; sorted, precarious, leaning and daring one more to be placed on top before it all crashes down, the fall short, the value lost, each blessing taken for granted. And somewhere below or above, the cartwheeling sun teases with notions of beauty, fingers on chest dugging, thighs like vices, light and dark rhythms plummet, withdraw, and voices tense in transient ecstasies forgetting burning fates in the sweet loss of rationale. And then a final inhale before arrival, fierce and brutal. A welcome heart stop. An abandoned fate.


#poem #poetry #poetic #igwriters #writersofig #poetrycommunity #literature #igpoets #igpoems #creativewriting #fiction #flashfiction #writing #writer #story #shortstory #streamofconsciousness #airplane #skyview #highabove #california #cumulonimbus #wayuphigh #skyhigh #airtravel #windowseat #cloudporn #vertigo (at Crash)

Countless dramas play beneath our sky scars, unseen worlds of disorder and routine, tugging souls into orbit and loosing them in a terrestrial dance echoing the great play of the cosmos. Uncaring, unaware, perhaps unwilling, ghost thoughts linger in the ether as our bodies hurtle. They might float Heavenward, hungry for starshine or a fiery death in the sun, but likely they fall as psychic rain. The busy below remain unknown, but our shadow brings pause to their tantrums, their serenity, their indulgence and sorrow. And then the unbidden intrusion of our discontent, our joy, our expectation and anxiety, clings like morning dew to their glass blade thoughts bent in new, unpredictable ways. And it seeps, absorbed, feeding seeds of fresh desire. And so grows an impulse posing as instinct. They never saw it coming, our awareness absent too, the chance drift of gravity gathering tides to the landlocked. #airplane #flight #land #above #high #view #nowindowseat #poem #poetry #writer #writing (at Below)

Birth or death? The soul is set free regardless, shimmering in the refracted gold edges of a beginning, an end. The most beautiful fear felt walking the dread line, balancing hope on each step when a plummet into life – or out if it – hinges on single moves, perfect decisions. Crisis circus, a cascade of tears and cavalcade of desires, cirrus dreams and circuitous hopes, careless curiosity and cancerous whims. Dying is art of rebirth into new, unknown days. Letting go is for the artist, the lover, the fool and cripple. The brave hold still, the commended fasten hands to wings and soar to lands where tendrils of mist coalesce underfoot as solid ground, and accept the weight underfoot. Faith’s footfalls offer no sound, no sure hold. To step there is an act of belief, accepting evidence of sight, smell, touch, sound, taste. Step without confidence and gravity murders, the fall seizing limbs, skull, flesh, blood and muscle, milking sanguine tears on impact. Better to walk. Better to believe. Best to find life in the eggshell uncracked by need, unspoiled by longing, visible as birth and certain as death. #sky #plane #airplane #dusk #sunset #clouds #flying #flight #writing #writer #poem #poetry #literary_imagery #literary_original (at The Icarus Lesson)

Could it be believed, the way the day transported us? The way it buoyed our stubborn souls on blankets of downy mist that rolled out of view like sheets left in passion’s wake? We spun in chaotic ribbons of light that flexed with our need across the striated order of days. Disobeying the flat rule of hours, the precise delineation of up and down, left and right, night and day, we straddled the heavens in locked bliss, teased at the door of God with shaking hands, sunk our teeth into the shoulder of Nature and begged for more disorder. Beauty rolled below us where it was hidden from sight for the rest of the world. How delicious a secret, yet an unveiling promises to awaken this sleep infected world; our discovery suspending hopes in defiance of obligation’s gravity. Our revelation the beauty of chance design. #poem #poetry #sky #clouds #airplane #sun #literary_imagery #light #nature #stunning #writer #writing #thisiswhatyougetfromawindowseat #flying (at Overhead)

On the other side of your gray, I’m bathed in orange nectar; touching that thin membrane holding us here, gliding fingers across cold winds as if learning your skin, piercing souls gathered below in lazy congress. Featureless haze blankets your sun while mine lies open, bare, a reminder of forgotten goals placed further than my reach. It’s a beautiful treachery, this reminder, a soft tugging at the ache of resignation masquerading as indifference. Swaddling in the cotton of misgivings aborts temptation, hiding the bright nurture of candid desires that gather at dawn, and again at dusk, playing at the corners of your complacency. You turn away as I stare directly into the light, blinded. #poem #poetry #sky #clouds #airplane #sunrise #dawn #writer #writing #aisleseatsmakeforcrapphotos (at Glimpse)