April 27, 2017
” Had Richardson sat in the piercing shade…”
You’ll say, “In lieu of with us in the
Cruel, as a rule, sun on us.
He’d, it’d suffice to say, suffer less, unless
It’d be meaningful to a man like him to show.”
I’ll go, “Sure enough, he’ll tough it home to suffer, tho’
I think that ,yes, later at blackest ink late,
He’ll love chopping onions, through all of their skins,
To sweeten his red sauce. String section perfecting chaos as its tuning just begins.
One escape, esconsed in wet white cotton drapings,
Kind chimey showers
Keep rhythms in Richardson’s shapings.
They can steepen, that man’s dreams’ healing powers.”
April 21, 2017
Please presume It’s unsure for you as well
Assume We’re leaning
(an intangible caress)
I lean into
The careening custody of my mess.
April 21, 2017
An ordinary miracle
Might make my day good night.
An everyday freak hailstorm
Should soften the certain gravitas of agony..
Would my monday to monday/ Gone on to a good gravy, when
My dumptruck of good luck sails in?
All this will be laid to waste.
Then strong sprouts/ in not long/ will no doubt
Green the place.
(5 yrs back)
February 16, 2017
how Art thou? Do you drink from the deep sink of inspired creations at an art museum, gallery, or maybe a street art fair on a street near you?sometimes?
Do you have something on one of your walls that only you could only fall for?
And, can’t help but stare?
It’s an important thing,dontcha think?
It has been from an early age for me.
I’m told that soon after I found my father who had killed himself (the Hemingway), while all the distraught adults who knew and loved him were off balance with emotional and practical adjustments (like selling the house and moving on)
One forgotten first son had got into several paint cans and expressed quite a colorful statement on the backside of the new house for sale.
I was perched high for me
in a pinepitchtree
and waited out what I did
as I watched our house’s back side
where I painted from all the paint cans
stacked out back. Though very new plans
made us move away from that life.
Daddy had died and left that life.
Somebody and something could only cover
a french girl with hair from the girl in Breathless
was our art teacher that visited
Miss Blue’s 3rd grade class,
and liked my painting so much
she asked if she could take it
for a contest, or a book she was working on.
The blurry greens and blacks,
browns and blues, was a ship deep in a storm.
I never saw it again but
somebody and something could only recover
still, tie me to the mast.
I must get the next good grasp
still, the next limb up
to see some.
February 10, 2017
If I lost strict control some
I could prick all billion bubbles
If I left my lost some
I could remangle my mumbles
‘Till concision at any cost cums
I’d come to untangle dareknots
‘Till a guilt spilt relief
Stains the air & remains there
January 26, 2017
If I should shift off my myth-making, not forsaking my pathos,
I could concede defeat on conceits I’ve concealed,
Turn tail on my inner errant paths,
& Find my feet, for far, afield.
December 21, 2016
For the time being
I’m not being knuckled under some
Tho’ I do own a cramp in my own home camp
I’m achy in my aerie home
I got soot at my feet I just gotta stamp
But I bed on shredded graffiti
My conquests just see it as confetti
Me, I just insist it’s imaginary
I can’t resist It’s perfunctory
November 5, 2016
Some seem to see the floor of the sea
as a sketchy, yet effective sanctuary.
They’re thinking, I think, that it’s tucked away
good. & Could be quite quiet.
Sure would be you’d dream good there.
Sure, it goes that you must breathe much slower.
Sure, bluegreen cracks for surface lightening.
But, You’ll see that jeweled fishes,
Stilled with witness,
Flee at the softest flourish.
And bets are..sandbeds are busy with movement.
How can my dreams take when I’m floating awake?