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Atlantis Argo
Atlantis Argo
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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
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Birthday Flowers
Birthday Flowers
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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
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Day in the sky
Day in the sky
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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
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Just visiting
Just visiting
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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
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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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