poetry
-
WWW (Whose & Whose Woundings)
Pal i do blaze through terrible teeth tired too and hay for a head of self determination weeping sleepless over the left shoulder parenthesis bent over the smoky washington avenue bridge of the nose row after neon row of shakespearean wherewithal dispair lust memory patriotism further yes pal awake and aware an old sacrament lying…
-
Azzurro
There can exist no permanent record regarding motion i’ve knit some terrible decisions that do not rhyme with analytics baby you’re obsessed with you and rick carlisle should be ashamed according to a man with two pulitzers magical and mantic something dehumanized unendurable bleak casca has no nose i meant to buy flowers with my…
-
Waiting for the Cosmodrome
I like that he connects directly with the phonemic between three vowels on a scale from huey lewis and the news to pedro pascal oh no my money’s gone west with the yellow crane in the mouth of may from yangzhou to the misty flowers downstream their capital blooming to splendor my therapist thinks of…
-
Boot Disc
That candle waned long ago yet i am more than the object photographed in snow rodin like my father before the three step rule displays the tang object artificially a working model of freud’s unconscious its ancient dynasty tells me to use a quarter inch drill bit and that’s what i’m using your version of…
-
‘A Southern Tune’ by Li Yi
Married In Qutang To a trader From day to day In the Qutang Gorge The times of tides Seem easier kept Than the words of men Times I wish I were A boatman’s bride. Source: Wong, May, translator. In the Same Light: 200 Poems for Our Century: From the Migrants & Exiles of the Tang…
-
Artist’s Statement
My hoary head a dead artist’s statement blend dissect themes of relentless art survival a way to breathe in manufactured meaning while the enduring power of classical forms as fluid as the internet is bleak fragmented in a mind world grappling overstimulated connection i want to be as invective like i said my head is…
-
Oaxaca 1
I married a communist of horrible depth at the grand fiesta americana rooftop party and was totally fine with it now that i’m forty tattoos hoop earrings chapulines tiny talking as small noises salt the air where bushnell burned ropes from clouds reflected in the eyes of lesser roadrunner and greater light runner cannot possibly…