all of my cameras are broken & rats are eating art in storage

https://www.flickr.com/photos/essentialvoid/

Thursday

attracted to unwillingness
in my late morning sleep,
moths flock this face
and my nylon Body
retracts against arms outstretched
as feathers fail to form flight.

close encasing covers skin and spurned shafts,

so, I ask, “absolve me from this sin
that paints my incubus!”
and watch the blaze
change Cling to Crevice.

Louise Bourgeois “KONNA/FEMME” at the National Gallery of Iceland, Reykjavik

with verve of potent blight
freckled carpals scatter streetlight
in rubber pedals, not flowers.
will you?

wear my ring on the finger that hurts!
rainy days: we run on turf
with onyx eyes.
wouldn’t you?

confronting voyeurs quotidiens with my academia.edu paper on “dreamy kinderwhore” tumblr smut

confronting voyeurs quotidiens with my academia.edu paper on “dreamy kinderwhore” tumblr smut

Gerhard Richter’s Overpainted Photographs make me feel a lot of things (even if he’s got way too many €s).

image selections from my forthcoming chapbook, mossy bygones
(all about how much i luv fla and maybe how cataloguing it will boost my emigration)

also seen over here

belated reflections from iceland

scans from an my altered book, The Pudding Sampler (2010)

devil’s tower & golden arches

prints from my college-years series see america (disappear) 2011

rat requiem

rat requiem

Toyz R Us

I need to vomit on all those stacked frames

and stare at thickened nails

in fear of their rhombic vacuum

( like this: … .. .. .…. . ),

but I only see in-between

where foam is fading

to reveal dirt the color of my carpet.

paint nailed to concrete,

paint nailed to paint nailed to concrete

nailed to canvas,

nailed to my eye balls,

nailed to concrete.  

roper

oh, to block out your face with the frill from my fucking fashion boots

and to feel the bubbling hunger 

for examination of my reflection

(or what I’ve painted there).

crush me on your last drag.

I’ll pick my nose while you tell me everything

and miss the moment I wake 

from screaming from the couch from my forehead.

I don’t know what your tattoos mean, man!