Wednesday, March 30, 2011

the junkies (watercolor and graphite on watercolor paper)

becoming a spear

whittling away the what is
left on the stick of this life
spending the day dying.

thinking about insects and death
and dying waiting to work out
so I look good so I can be more

famous and fuck hotter and more $
cause this is where the happiness
is hidden in the future world

where I am happy and bugs care
and my dick is bigger and ice cream
won't make your feet disappear

where cancer waits like a hidden
tiger in the grey haired forest
of middle age. a thorn in it's paw.

Sunday, March 20, 2011

untitled collaboration with son (age 5)-- (watercolor, graphite, permanent marker on illustration board)

Wednesday, March 16, 2011

You're hurting me (watercolor and pen and graphite on watercolor paper)

when you speak i feel hurty

where were we?

making sandwiches

the white rain falling on the


while the cabby said to the lazy lady

"where's me money?"

the lazy lady replying.

"my boyfriend wants no babies,

oh where am i to go now?"

but where were we?

cutting apart the pirate

the white rain falling on the


a forest ranger holding a black baby

"it's not how it appears"

the black overweight hotel receptionist screaming

"here are your room keys,

they will not work when you get to your room"

but where were we?

the plane falling from the sky

the white rain falling on the


her soft and barren loins filling the

captain's room

"i'd like a diet coke please?"

the undulating eyes of the broken airline steward

"i wanted to travel and see the world

and have sex with strange men..."

but where were we?

…in uniform enjoying expensive drinks

the white rain falling on the


…late at night in the exotic hotel bars

leaving behind the starched confines

"of my youth in the neck of tennessee?"

not my thin body and perfect hair

"breathing in the blue air of strangers and

always using the food to stop the bleeding"

Saturday, March 5, 2011

the water is falling out of his head (watercolor and pencil on watercolor paper)

cross country

in red weather we stole

the postman's letters

covered in tears and wine

the black wolves forming

a line at the base of the camp

we carried our mace

at all times, the rain coming

down in black sheets my

hair had started to grow

back like leaves thwarted

on a dead tree. out in the wind

you called me on your cell

phone. a baby tiger curled

into your bed all crazy

bad breath in your face

my parole having just come

through. the cable guy

never showed, i was able

and we were left holding

the bill. far out at sea