Responding

Frida created scaffolds out of bones, metal pins,
fragments of her past to piece herself together.
Careful her soul is showing.
Rub her raw skin down.

Dots of paint make the seascape shimmer
eyes skim the surface, oscillating clarity
Tension created with static environment
across the canvas.

Arcing brushstrokes between the sacred and the profane.

A man placed a wheel at the end of his 6-foot wooden
cross and passed me as he rolled it down the street.

A ten-foot photo of
a subject with hypodermic
needles piercing the length
of his arm in a cross-hatch pattern.
speak only of cold blue
stones and smooth green masks
in our social composure.

Quick-captured glimpses
of color through slotted
views in the subway
tunnel between DeKalb
and the bridge

An artist cuts out holes on large
pieces of cardboard and glues
amoeba-shaped wood
pieces onto it and calls it art.

We have barely survived our history.
Our art is responding…

Wistful Pleasure

Words hang from your shirttail
Stand still while I copy them down
it will only take a moment.

You leashed an I love you note
to the collar of my white shirt
then left behind your scent
on my pillow.

Pull away other-
wise you will see
a drowning in disguise.

A wistful pleasure vision
swirling time in your mouth
in the dying embers of
whispers and laughter.
Water trails create deep
trenches along our skin.

Soft Edges

Sound waves
make the air tremble…
Tumble in a soliloquy
leather tongue rasps
over the course
emissions of soma cravings.

Ebb and flow of a natural state
chains turn to strands
neither bind nor constrict.

In the darkness
the world spirals
into a smoky realm.
Words are wrapped
in soft harmonies

Reaching the ocean
seashells ration out
watery secrets
Not identity, essence.