Thursday, June 30, 2011

Found Jesusesque Head

Wednesday, June 29, 2011

Self Portrait of the Virgin Mary

For Cecilia Oleksak

On the east coast, my twin paints
children and the living of lives.

Oils spread out, form life, on a tight canvas.
There’s a face, an arm, maybe a heartbeat.

Possibly Ann Arbor, Michigan or
the East Race. Perhaps a broken Heineken
bottle collapsed on a corner of Clark St.

The texture is raised, the memory faded.

How about a portrait of a bar scene?
Capture another drunken alley moment.
Wrestle an Indian, fire a gun, take a hit.

Somebody’s missing hand covers
a dartboard’s plastic bull’s-eye.
There’s a mismatched set of Jesus sandals
on a pool table and a neon Grey Goose
is nailed to a stud on a bathroom wall.

Music that will soon be in a commercial
plays from a retro-looking jukebox,
crumpled dollar bills made it past the sensor.

On the east coast my twin puts away the paints.

A crucifix over a nightstand, rosary beads
on a floor and the cry of a saxophone fill rooms.

The scene is still wet, not enough time to dry.

Monday, June 20, 2011

Delving into the Backyard of Your Mind

Have you ever taken the time to get ants drunk?

Maybe you once studied them
through a magnifying glass,
in and out of their little hole.

Maybe you once, while studying them,
accidentally eliminated the ants by
the swelled sunbeams hovering above.

Did you think that it smelled like chicken?

Maybe you once turned yellow
in the un-fun house’s memory mirrors,
half-baked, half loony bin bound.

Maybe you once, while trying to escape,
slipped on your own guts and slid
for a fortnight’s worth of delusions.

Were you screaming on your descent down?

Maybe you were laughing like
a tickled child on a its birthday,
bladder control disappearing quickly.

Maybe you were, as frightened as can be,
looking for that something that can
never be found by those searching.

Thursday, June 16, 2011

Gettin' rowdy in the backyard

Red Rocks with Rob Bucher and the dogs

Wednesday, June 08, 2011

Mr. No Depth Perception

My god, look at the orchards.
Look at the salamander’s hiccup.
Look at the hammer bending nail.

Sun shadows appear as mistletoe.
Who kisses under the heat of fire?

My god, look at the cowardly souls.
Look at the dragon’s scales.
Look into the microchip pupil.

My god, would you just look around.

Friday, June 03, 2011

The Reverberation of Amusing Animals

Bleak conversations over coffee
to a shadow that’s not even me.
The dome on it is plagued, slumping
shoulders stares at the concrete.

It recognizes god’s bouts of solitary
while I wait for a Caribbean schooner
to usher me away from violent frenzies.

I wasn’t made for waiting around,
listening to omnipotent answers
to sinister questions.

In the murky swamp of my reality
leeches give me the news of trombones
playing for dying, egotistical, crickets
in an alley south of the Mason-Dixon Line.