born of blood
from a thorn
of a beautiful flower

from the love
of the horned
adorned
in power

cowering
in the vicious
maliciousness
of the constituents
in the deliverance
to my ridiculousness

saw
twisted shapes
and contorting faces
heard
blurred words
displaced
in hateful slurs
of aggression

and i cannot count the cases
in my tasteless confessions
in my reluctant concessions
in my brutal perfection
of my obsessions

imposed against my will
you're supposed to feel
what they do
right?

opposed to killing
for the thrill
but it sometimes
just feels right

shanky gone unscrupulous

shivering
his shimmied
blood on the walls

stuttering stanleys
still silly stringing
calling for candy
but missed last call
and fell to the floor

as Bruno butchered the boar
in a deplorable fashion

a crime of passion

we were hungry
rubbing our tummies
for the honey
of bee hives

jive turkeys
turning to bunnys
for good times

but we were alive
while others were not

fraught with darkling majesty
sparkling at the seraded points

disjointed
in Freudian
ointments

self anointed
as god

standing over
some butchered
brod from abroad
wiping the fog
of dislodged
eye sockets
from my grog

how you get
from there to here
isn't really a fair mirror
on my intention

i meant to
suspend her
just enough
to face f--k
and with luck
strangle her

but she prayed to be ripped down
in her own way

my f--king way

stripped her
of dignity
wimpering
in little cute sounds

who am i?
but the guy
who spaced

hit her
too many times in the face
and replaced her
facelessness
with ***** toiletries

disappointingly
underwhelmed

still in search of a fairy
to take the helm
and ferry me
from this film

disparagingly
just spare me
the tragedy and grief
blaring from the TV

as i mock
their expressions
in my lessons
of humanity
before the flock

to shelter
my anxiety or not

gonna be
a real boy one day
and conform
to the
wayward ways

the way
of sheep

sleeping
soundly
in decay

blue fairy
gonna
marry me
one
day

be
real
one
day

one

day

1


d
a
y

'Does anyone still want to go with me into a panorama? '
—Max Brod


The sun floats down river
Resting from a long day.
As Banvard draws love

Birds in the sand.
She tries to explain
How his deformity angers her.

Unable, she leaves him
On the other side of the shore.
Banvard becomes

a traveling salesman,
s campfire fiddler,
s drunk, a painter of shores.

Yearning for her—

He turns her into the Mississippi shore.
Riding the long river, floating

On a brush, he paints her portrait.
Huge bolts of love
The canvas sags from longing

Immense wood contraption
(Gears-pulleys crank machinery)
Three miles of canvas.

An uninterrupted portrait.

The papers publish the spectacle
'The hunchback painter and his panorama! '

He builds a wooden stage
Winds up river then down.
The lines are long, (.50 cents.)

They wait for hours...

He sits in the middle
Of hungry brush stroke
Up river

Down.
Up river

down
Eyes straining—

To find her.


Nominated for a Pushcart Award 2008 Juked.com

“Does anyone still want to go with me into a panorama?”
Max Brod

The sun floats down river
resting from a long day.
as Barvard draws love

birds in the sand.
She tries to explain
how his deformity angers her.

Unable, she leaves him
on the other side of the shore.
Banvard becomes a traveling salesman,

a campfire fiddler,
a drunk, a painter of shores.
Yearning for her -

He turns her into the Mississippi shore.
Riding the long river, floating
on a brush, he paints her portrait.

Huge bolts of love
The canvas sags from longing
Immense wood contraption

(gears-pulleys crank machinery)
Three miles of canvas.
An uninterrupted portrait.

The papers publish the spectacle
“The hunch back painter and his panorama!”
He builds a wooden stage

Winds up river then down.
The lines are long, (.50 cents.)
they wait for hours….

He sits in the middle
of hungry brush stroke
Up river

down. Up river down
eyes straining
to find her.

To be published by JUKED.COM

Max Brod:  So is there any hope?

Franz Kafka: Yes, an Infinity of hope - for God. But none for us.

In Norway their bread is called Brod

In Kristiansand their bakery’s named Odd

They use flour that is Leven

Which is all milled in Heaven

And grown Bio/Organic by God.