Table the conversation, bed the silence

Long after we have introduced ourselves
and cast every thought into the volatile waters
uttered every minute detail of every minute
divulged the diary of our doldrum day
sung every love ballad to the other…
our thoughts and speech will dwindle like a slow-dript faucet
in the silence,
our eyes will lock
and all that is left
is the movement of our hands
speaking the things words cannot express
our mouths on skin, forming
a language that is not fully translatable
the fine articulation of bodies
declaring a rare love
that is yet still oral
Published in: on April 17, 2009 at 10:46 pm  Comments (6)  
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Slow progress

I’ve finally managed to finish something. It’s damn near May!  Egads. I need to spend more time in that art room. Time is in a sieve.

So here’s one I started about a year ago:

(sorry the pix aren’t the best. I think I need a new camera)


















I did this one a few years ago. I just refound it. The medium is pastels, and I used my thumbprints to make the background. Add this one to the androgenous soul series…


Published in: on April 17, 2009 at 8:35 am  Comments (4)  
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the target in the cross-hairs

 I’m easy prey these days,
a rapid catch.
ready to play?
teasingly left garments torn
soaked in my musk
hang from the oaks
and tracks where the mud
squooshed between my toes, show
you are on my tail
if your gun is loaded and ready
and your hounds can sniff my trail
you’ll be sure to bag me soon
if your senses are keen
you will recognize
that there are tracks aside mine
an imprint, but of what?
and pointy shards of shattered dreams
a struggle has occured, it seems
dear hunter,
are you stalking game
or a tracker shepherd ?
where I hide
under the leaves and bramble
and piles of loose earth
freshly discarded
ragg’ed and shucked
bum luck. Your mark’s already snatched
wipe the horror and shock from your face
rise to your feet
for at this very moment
you may be the target in the cross-hairs
Published in: on April 16, 2009 at 1:52 am  Comments (2)  
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My Reincarnate Besotted

My mental recycling
discards the rest and keeps the best
parts of you you you
Masking matters that
never mattered with painter’s tape
blue blue hued
I drink to forget
liquefying you down, remolding you
in me, booze broods bruised
Like a bloated tick
you return, popping in my mind
reuse use used
Published in: on April 5, 2009 at 12:30 pm  Comments (1)  
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