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Beauty Is Everywhere Beauty is everywhereBaudelaireEven the worm is beautifulThe thread of a beggar’s dressThe red eye of a drunkardOn a rainy nightChasing the red haired girlBaudelaireAcross the skyYour raggy pantsLaughing at the rainBeauty is everywhereBaudelaire  — Jack Micheline

There: Off to the left on the ash tiles below the legsOf the yellow folding table, they do not wish to be ID’dBeneath the lights ( clearly Disappear, scurry, scurry, disappear Fans stir the otherwise contemplative air, the night I tryGrabbing the vein — bug wisely — I swear with my eyes, they hide (scurryScurry…

http://www.youtube.com/get_player my memory’s startling ability to unsee the real is not directly connected to the depth of my imagination; once i know you are a weakness i will never believe you are strong.

“From my mother I inherited my looks and a tendency to migraine. From my father I inherited an optimism which did not leave me until recently.” Joan Didion I stole her quietly waiting on the grocer’s line reading the covers of magazines like a tourist I stole her nervous hands her addiction to sweet, soft…

everything abstract the numbers concrete and growing up from cracks in purple, lips, light a seed a horizontal bloom immediately, then nothing abstract, even abstraction she’s lying out on the couch, no there’s a better word now she’s laying out of context across the bed, sheet wrapped around her legs, light a seed a horizontal…

james murphy sits / on jersey sheets / slices stars / tinkers w horizontal bars / in the dark / revives wordless weirdo kids / deadpan scars

skinny arms so tired sundaytimes spread across the tablekenny clark barely ascendantover the twitching din of carsi sense that love has passed not chasing the bus alive three hours nowin northern new jerseya stand-in for the hudson which shadows the soulfour fingernails peeling offa little dead skin [unfinished, 052920110832]

page after page plateafter plate it is obviousto one willing to studythere are no straight lines. young queen victoriatightens her pelvic muscleswith temperate purpose eliminates the last remainingvertical slash. i’ve tipped the begging dogvictoria’s cocksure grip on graphitethe trumpet-like moon the hat impliesbehind the nightly swirl of trees. i see watercolor for the first timedo…

i must be unafraidnoti must be bravea handwritten list, graphite experiencesdry sketches, without love and attention will i dismiss their power? panicked gasps pass my lips, but salt water burnsa gash from my nostrils, looking out toward the sandsurviving sunbathers and settling, hungry seagulls. self-pity; stretching and sated; energy depleted by noonmemory a once-rich ruby…