Cebo Campbell

Autumn

Crisply, bracken snaps under boot.
The leaves are wet reds
And terracotta drips onto brown.
Sweet air burns
While lakes resolve into glass.
Somewhere
A Ferris wheel turns and the young make love
In October grass.
The warmth is man-made.
Slowed are the captives of time;
Declining tenderly.
The world turns an attic of unremarkable things
Unwilling to fade or to care.
Colorful and raging,
Yet aloof:
A delirious prelude to the end of a world.

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About

I am an author and a Creative Director.

As a full-time creative (VP of Creative Services at Spherical), I spend most days writing in the nooks and crannies of my available time. I wake up at 5:30am just to get in a few hours putting words on paper. I write on the train. I write on planes. I write waiting in lines. I feel I have to write. The reason is simple: representation.

I often tell the story of Ferris Bueller; a kid who decides to skip school and, on charm alone, steals a car, impersonates a cop, drinks underage, tampers with computers, and at every step exposes his best friends to peril, only to go home and fall asleep with his mother to kiss him into sweet dreams. I asked myself if Ferris were Trayvon Martin, how might that story end? I know the answer. So do you. And this is why representation is so important. I aim to contribute more stories into the world that diversely feature regular (but beautiful) lives made extraordinary. Art, I believe, is the only way to accomplish this. All my creative work is inspired by and aims to add to all the great work in the world.

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