WHETHER morticians wear
the makeup of cadavers
or madness is the friendliest
voice makes no difference
you are sick
to believe loud colors
have no mouth
and the trunks of people
grow deeply rooted roads
that have many toll booths
the rich pay for free things
and the poor steal dreams
those dead envy the living
and those alive
feel so dead.


:: 10-27-2018 ::

i, knowing,
declare you in
manifest—

you're in my
words and worms
and winds.  

i embody you in
relation:

i, as aesthetic expression,
you, as visceral reception.

Tears are
Eli
  xir
lush is
  l
  y
like eye
deli
ciously!
Myeye enTOMED IF
MY
OP
TIC HEART BEATS
of c o m ing love
and waiting is
spent in I- SO
lation
but rewarded
by golden souls!
So pain is a seed
and spirit the tree
i bury my roots
D
E
E
P
L
Y
!

:: 12-31-2014 ::

I mouthed the morning,
and dew and petal!

I ate the soil but not
the bee but even thorn!

I saw the gnome  
inside a root of tree!

I kissed his conical hat
and kissed his feet!

This I did all before
but never within my sleep!

:: 08-26-2014 ::

"LiSTEN" said the tongue
"I smell tragedy" replied the eyes
"Who knows?" questioned the nose
"I think" screamed the heart
And Spirit hugged the Soul wishing
this unbelievable dream would
just go away.

:: 09-03-2018 ::

THAT in my fever while sanity has escaped by baluster
i continue to gaze in daze across the sea of white-
capped madness

Each o-shaped mouth
Each Black-bead eye
and all the ears
     all the chins
             teeth

  speak an infinite story of nothing but sadness.
And within the orchestral pit finely dressed musicians
they shed b-flat note tears; their mannequin powder-white
skin a color of pink's sunsetting murmur.

Simply, the true story is off stage toward this
improbable army audience; the finely carved polychrome
citizens start to move;  half-bodied and more alive
than the flesh-kingdom.

   Last night.  Last night i felt.  
That one's life can be as real as one's imagination
   if you sinerely wish it.

:: 08-23-2018 ::

THE PRECIOUS terror is realizing
most adults are dead children
or like a day that folds itself into

a basket of reborn night.  That long-
necked geese and stiff necks are
either pretending giraffes or self

consumed souls; ignoring the mirror's
reflecting thoughts introspection
devours it's own mouth.  

  Surrealism is hickey upon my heart
that bests freezer burn sunlight any
now.  Kiss me you brilliant stupid
fool.

:: 08-30-2018 ::

i am dumb.  you caught me eating  beach sand
when steak is upon the table.  And now my teeth
are crumbling sand castles / as youth begged me
to build my empire \ i am old. the guardian of
my soul reminds me a hater sees though blind and
lovers be blind but can see \an emptiness felt i
have never filled. The sensitive see more and
the poor eat feasts within their sleep.  i weep.
bolts of lightening.  laughter created the universe.
wewereso youthful and time yet born when the
few of us decided to explore the 'place of darkness'
and found life which creates life.  i am
dumbfounded.  by free will.  we all have it but
without choice.  _/_/_/___


:: 08-29-2018 ::
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Contemporary art
Dada and surrealism
Paint in my heart