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Atlantis Argo
Atlantis Argo
IntoTheReal :     7/2009  Watercolor on canvas 30”X40”     Darling I’m moving more   Into the real  The wind moved me today  And did not blow right through me  I realized a leaf  My arms grew strong  I could sense the smell of you  Through all these bifurcations of me  The colors like pink and ocean aqua     I think maybe there are various forms  Various levels of being  This morning I woke up  And the world looked the same  Only it was more of the world  Then I could touch before  With just the dust  Of my memory     And so I use these hands  To gather dirt  And water  And I’m growing flowers  For you  Right out of my emptied head     And I look for you now  Because I want to perceive  You  seeing me  for the first time      
IntoTheReal
Birthday Flowers
Birthday Flowers
The bride striped bare by her bachelors 12/12/12 :     6/2009 India Ink, Bee’s wax and pigment on clayboard panels  24”X36” (24X18” each panel)     I remember the shoes  I remember how she spoke to me then  The vast glass walls  The dirt floors  The surreal ash,  Wheels and sprockets,  clock parts,  pages scattered on the Tuesday streets        I remember the teddy bear  With the stuffing on the outside  The button eyes lost in the sheets  The pee stains smell  And the breasts not offered  In the age of Rational Mind     Children drew pictures  Of twin candles burning  As if it were our second birthday  A second age  A second coming  An age of timelessness     And the Balinese  Walked into the guns of white men,  We walk into the fire  Of shadow  Of clarity in the deep pool  Of Magical Mind     I think of the shattered glass,  A looking glass  Beauty created by accident  Some careless accomplice,   Creates with the artist.     And they hid from God  Because they where ashamed  Of their nakedness  And we will strip her bare   Because we are not ashamed anymore     Deep in a sealed wooden boat  The woman who abandoned the white BWM  In the garage below  Sails into the  Worlds beyond  The knowledge of light and dark  White doves descend  Into her deep pool of longing        And in this,  The last world  a woman  Gives birth
The bride striped bare by her bachelors 12/12/12
Day in the sky
Day in the sky
Point of Assembly : Watercolor on Canvas 24X36"It's at some pointjust behind the right shouldera place where we are taughtto fix attentionand there it coalesces.Last night it shiftedand I flew out of thethird floor window,saw my daughterand her friendentering the back doorbelowI stood on the wall outsidewatchinglike a clowndoing some stupid stunt,a trick,because everyone knowsI can't really walk on wallsbut somehow Ithink I couldimagine swimmingin warm living waterunder the night wirethe spotlights passingoverheadthe illicit wet flowingover new white skinlike liquid breathcaresses.I'm thinking that maybethis shifting is whatwe did before wefell off of the wallbefore all of the king's horsesbefore all of the king's menmadethis assemblythat maybe I shouldjustfall againlike maybe it's betterto be be brokenand shifting the dreamthen fixedand steel.Is this real?
Point of Assembly
Just visiting
Just visiting
ChacoCanyonNightLight : Chaco Canyon Night Light19"X25" India Ink, Bee's Wax and Pigment on folded paperI dreamed of pink desert highways,night sweatwindows open and the fan making airplanenoise,with a night light onimagined the red glowing eyesof devilswith whip tails and dark leather wingscowboys with white hats,white horses,night lightsstarsand the moneychangersare thrown outand the burnt bonesof the dry rainmakeris thrown into the kivawhere the night light is,where tears are too precious to rain,where the stone peopleare fired by the sunwhere they fallcrashing in giantnight noiselike god fellfrom a hotsummer nights bedimagining thathe was just a boywith a night light on.
ChacoCanyonNightLight
Thundering Silence : India Ink, Bee’s Wax and Pigment on folded paper  25X19”     I steal from her, her silence, her title, her everything  Which is really just wind and water and yes I agree  I’m just a bag of wind and noise and nothing more and here is the but.  But.  What else are we here for?  Yeah, it’s just a skin bag filled with hot air  A little tiny basket hanging below  With the sand man hanging in heavy bags  A westerly wind and the heat in this skin bag  Floating this vessel up a mountain it has no business being on     Well maybe noise is why we are here?  We’re noisemakers and maybe hearing our own noise isn’t the point?  Maybe there is some other point to the wind  We gather behind the skin sails?  We inflate the body, this dream of being  And yes there is the gift of awareness  The I am  But yeah, who cares?  Nobody  And yet  There is a reason  Some moment  Brief as it might be  On one day  Someone stands by a window looking out  And they think  Wow, that’s such a beautiful balloon  All those colors sailing in the wind  Someday I hope to be  That balloon.  And that thundering silence  Calls a rain  A rain  That is ironically thirsty    On that day I hope it is a hot day  Perhaps children are playing in the water  And the thunder claps  Announce the beginning  And I fall.     But it could be winter, quietNo one sees  And I float  So white in a blue northern light.
Thundering Silence
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