all of my cameras are broken & rats are eating art in storage
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.
wear my ring on the finger that hurts!
rainy days: we run on turf
with onyx eyes.
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
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.
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!