Tuesday, August 4, 2015

The Act of Always Being Awake (Digital Collage)

Purple Haze

the meat in my head is purple
where once it was orange 
as a kid riding my bike through the city

i don’t see things the way i did back then
when i worked at the spaghetti warehouse
before afghanistan and the world trade center

i’m not sure what my emotional state is
most of the time. if i’m getting better or worse
there is a name for my condition but that doesn’t help much

i bought a gun a few weeks ago and take it out
and look at it sometimes when you’re sleeping
the horses standing just outside the window

the wind blowing the rain across the road
a long slow train leaving the station
tomorrow or just the end of time
Making Sure I Was Alone I Took My Shirt Off 2015 (digital collage)

Saturday, April 4, 2015

gene simmons' air hockey table

i hadn’t seen him in years
and he looked so much older

i asked him how many crayons 
would it take to
color the whole world blue


how many different blues are there
i’d guess maybe fifty, but what do i know
it’s been years since i hung myself in my bedroom
from the doorknob of the closet


i’d want the biggest box they had
fifty blues would be nice 
i could really match the color to each
glorious day

full of sun
my arms lying in the grass
open to new suggestions

my blue skin against
the gray skin of the morning
unbuttoning my shorts

one button at a time so
the whole class could see
and then filling in the blanks

with all the leftover colors

Thursday, December 18, 2014

The Gold Standard (wood, glass, glue, ink, paper and acrylic paint)

from the darkness

the devil owes me some onions
he was making a lasagna
one night and i gave him some
from my surplus supply

i wasn't aware that you put onions
in lasagna, but what do i know
i’m just a man who's intentions are good
a sinner who can’t stop crying

i also asked him for some things
that i’d rather not talk about in
this poem. it’s confidential.
sure i’m an artist, but not the kind

that tells you all kinds of secrets
about themselves
like i’m an excellent tambourinist
or that my urine tastes like electricity

or that my arms are doll like
and have fallen into the fire 
and that i’m writing
this sitting in a chair

in a forest 
inside a mall 
in New Mexico 
surrounded by monsters

Listening to a neverending 
loop of christmas songs
while the whole world 

slowly turns to shit

Sunday, November 2, 2014

The Happiest Moment of my Life (ink, paper, glue, acrylic paint and resin)

under your feet

i ain’t no spider
laying in a grave
waiting for the cancer
to come and clear my plate

i ain’t no liar
all filled up with gold
trying out all my answer
on anyone who will listen

i ain’t no real chemist
i just make stuff that tastes great
and puts the pants on the monkey
when no one else will

i ain’t no harlequin romance novel
i'm a real nancy drew cryer
all the time
ask my girlfriend. she’ll tell you it’s true

i ain’t no back alley deal
that you made with the italian
that didn’t turn out as badly, i guess
as it could have

i ain’t no mouse in your mouth
while you try to say your name 
to the police officer
standing beside your car

i ain’t the dish filled with bacon
ready to be enjoyed
your heart in a glass
by the stove

i am the face of the grey horizon
the receding hairline of the city
breaking under the weight of heaven

open your eyes
open your eyes

open your eyes

Wednesday, October 1, 2014

FIGHT (acrylic paint, foil stars, paper, ink and glue on wood)

among the living

I don't usually tackle the big heavy 
statements like, "an old man should 
never phone too deeply into a pole"

my brain isn't smart enough 
at this point to carry the weight 
of such a profound statement 

so instead I write things like
i see a small black bird
every time you smile at me

and then go
walking around

not barefoot

Thursday, September 25, 2014

The Bearded Giant (acrylic, paper, ink, glue on wood)

black batman

he wore the fur lined cape 
of the black bat man
into the disco 

the music so loud 
it made a perfect circle
down on the dance floor

he moved through the crowd 
like liquid snow
steam coming off his cheeks

he shook hands 
with the bartender
the black hands of desire

the place would burn to the ground
less than three weeks later
killing most of them

but tonight wasn’t made for that sort of thing
tonight wasn’t made for worrying
about a future that would never arrive

tonight was made for michelob
and benson and hedges
and hand jobs in the black

back part of the club and
whatever else the world

had to throw into our way
Phillipe (acrylic, paper, ink, glue on canvas)

writing a fantastic poem at the airport 
on your phone while waiting for your life
to be over

is not an easy thing to do
well it's really not that hard either i guess
the results vary

there's a guy on tv in a grey t-shirt 
and a baseball cap 
facing backwards

he has a beard
i assume he's a full grown man 
only posing as a small child

the ‘newscasters’ are discussing
the death of a comedienne who passed away 
unexpectedly last week

all of these people are sitting in front of microphones
they must have important things to say
i can only imagine

what am i missing
so much 'news'
all over the world

crazy shit. 
my friend tells me about a boy 
holding a severed head

he saw in the news recently
i see the boy quite clearly in my mind
he is dressed like amal from the christmas play

he has a karate kid style bandana
he's a cute kid who you'd normally see playing baseball or video games
sort of a brunette version of my own son

he’s got a gun strapped to his back
he's covered in dust and grime
he’s finally getting the attention he deserves from these lunatics 

he seems to be surrounded by
the body of the dead man unburied nearby
the corpse's flaccid penis clearly visible

but who is this dead guy?
no idea. some dude. if it was the head of the comediane
i guess the whole country would be more concerned

but it’s not. just some middle eastern looking stranger
a ghost. a prop. no one to concern myself with

here in this airport surrounded by animals

Friday, August 29, 2014