Monday, May 30, 2011

the frontrunner (photo collage with inkpen on watercolor paper)

my friend's funeral

all the bees are
flying due north
out of your body into
the yellow black smoke

into the sun burning the world

oily and alive
full of hot dry gold
as hard as eskimo
a child's smile

the world's darkest skin

you were left in the forest
alone inside the blanket
an ink bath beside
a black gorilla

and then you were

falling from the earth
into  the world of vinyl
the philadelphia experience
seven feet below you

the brown building

your left uppercut
opened up on the table
where the blood was
beside the wolf head

i need a miracle

8 weeks of a slow 
steady blunt hammer
coming down from
god to take you home

the coffin door opens

the tv's grey hum
the teeth of victory
scattered at the feet
of the couch by the bong

the maybeline manora

feet barely touching
the ground above
the field where the crowd
watches wide eyed

kevin costner's hair

the sky opening up
it's arms and picking you
off the earth jumping into 
heaven to lick its face

Thursday, May 26, 2011

the hanger (inkpen and watercolor on watercolor block)
the gift horse

it arrived under the curtain
aside the crouton table
inside the old cottage
that i had forgotten about

and you couldn't find your
hands with a knife
on top of the building
there was blood everywhere

a wild leopard print 
covered most of iowa
universities snatching
kids from school buses

i was knitting a sweater
of soft horse hair
alone in the black barn
stroking back the flies

into the mouth of
old saint nick asleep
at the kitchen table
a thin trail of urine

running out 
from under him
inside his icy BBQ
dream house

Wednesday, May 25, 2011

the racer (ink pen and watercolor on painted particle board)


let's make kiss lips
and snuggle bunnies
up in margaret's room

you read my diary 
it'll be on fire out on the street. 
the girl with the nose job knows

that that isn't your under taking
It's your under wear and not your
only heart breaking

is that a sentry gown you're
wearing above the lake
hands wrapped around the moist pole

we must make our way back to the bank
says peter, before it is too late
isiah wears a dress towel on the porch

now dragons approach
A horrible roar coming out of the steam
clearly we will be lost out here

like we were before
inside the dorm room 
where they are building a fire

beautiful and young
their lives almost over
and the dvd's have yet to be returned

boom boom go the speakers
in the trunk of this poem
as it passes down the street again

Friday, May 20, 2011

the carrier (ink pen and watercolor on watercolor board)

the fairy tale

back when i was young
i would go into the forest
with the shiny silver ax
my father had given me

and cut down the great oaks
the peach and hackberry trees
golden sequoias and douglas fir
if i was out west. leaving only 
the broken bones of the
woods in my wake

at night i would hear the cicada 
blindly calling out in its lilting 
soprano or surprise an imperial 
moth or a black elm leaf beetle

sometimes i would see the 
most beautiful birds in the world
flying through the dark yellow clouds
darters and goatsuckers or even
the occasional flamingo

once i came across a 
small animal hiding in 
the dirt crying for it's
dead mother. i hurried past 
it off into the dark 

in the dark late at night
the setting moon's teeth
would reflect off the
brilliant green jewels
of my vestments