Tag Archives: art

Plaything

Fictionalize me, martyr me to your crosses and lost causes, give me a form by which my double can register touch, and seeds of desire, twitching and sputtering in the blue flames of fabulous opera, make me the husky baritone … Continue reading

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Burble

To pour, unrestrained, Beauty in her cups, and burbling fount, a lasting refrain.

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Torch Song

Nature does not express opinions, she asserts herself with whatever force is necessary to explode the billion screaming hearts tendered from her wellsprung artistry. Nature does not engage in philosophy or debates, she, unbridled, the husbandless pagan, teems and throbs … Continue reading

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I See Myself

I always saw the humanity behind his thick-lidded eyes, the small child, begging for a banquet of golden crumbs to appease the motherache churning in his heart and stomach. A thousand lions pitted against a studded chainsmoking beergutted gladiator, I … Continue reading

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Voracity

She, baring teeth lodged in the jaws of dreamlife, grazes on symmetry and swaths of fire, this diet, recommended in due measures for dreamers only, trades in the manna of satisfaction for whole-bellied hunger, a voracious reckon and spiritual art … Continue reading

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Shift

I used to wreck on a regular basis. Going off the rails was my subversive way of keeping things under control. Illusions and mirages astonished me, still do. Something, anything, to hold on to was my gutted mantra, hollowed out … Continue reading

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Daughter, Mother

Mother, without your touch, blood-lush access to eternity’s grasp, I am rudderless, and adrift, in a world that shits on innocence. ………………………………….. Daughter, without you to hold, a promise illumined into love’s totem, I am sunless, and moonless, a stray … Continue reading

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Sculpt

To sculpt, with just the right amount of brandish, and restraint, how you, art to your own crumble and chasten, exact marvel, slowly, at the Muse’s favored bidding.  

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Jackson Pollock

Out of silence, and lidded smolder, arose a localized storm. You could say it was a balletic squall forecasting its own tyrant reign and fall, a fate designed to galvanize and then blackout not so gently into that goodnight exit … Continue reading

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Cinch

Where you are not, I have found just cause for form, blanks folded and tucked, to cinch gapes and frayed cords.

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