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

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…

the target in the cross-hairs


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

