Ink and Pencil

 
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Visited Fitzgerald's grave recently...it's in Rockville, Maryland, next to a busy highway, in a small, nondescript graveyard next to a bunch of others who, by the looks of their gravestones, appear to be long forgotten. So we beat on, boats against the...
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particularities

There is a sense of humor to this project, but I hope to also stir thoughts around the rituals many develop around food. What foods do you like, but only in a particular way? Maybe I could create another image with...
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Bonds

“There are years we lose to people we didn’t realize we never loved.” —Philip Schaefer There are years we lose people. We didn’t realize how much we loved the myth of them. The warmth in the soft lining of the glove, absent. There are years we...
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Shadow Existence On the way to work a large bird flew overhead. I wouldn't have known it was there had it not wedged itself between me and the late morning sun. Bird Bath Some stories belong under the bathroom sink beneath a broken pipe where rests dirty water, toothpaste spit and soap scum. *** My...
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https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=p9-iQVu66BQ Me and my zine Submissions are open for The Swaying Drunkard's Moose, and I'm so excited to start reading your poems! Unless they're about your cat. Your cat or Jesus. We don't wanna read those. PLEASE DON'T SEND SUBMISSIONS TO OUR OLD,TALLYHO site OR...
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Rezubian

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Down to the dust

Guitar and voice by RC James https://soundcloud.com/rc-james-user841120068/z0001070 Ain’ nuthin’ left here ‘cep six uv us an’ dry stahks ‘a corn. We’re up ta movin west soon as I sort out the T-Ford. Jenny, ma wife, is set to have anuther to make us seven. Got some taters...
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separation

I left you without saying goodbye though you wouldn't care I was Pluto and you the Sun an indifferent smog grew shrouding a giant with thousands of heads you cried and acidic tears burned my clothes and eyes your face got a lunar spot my throat dried and...
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Buddha Man Blues

for Muddy Waters On the Mississippi bottoms West African griot rhythms filter through Spanish moss swaying over the river bank. Lovers find their own cadence, song settling into their hands moving over each other’s skin. At night in the juke joint, his face commands the stage, he nods, beams,...
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is the diagnosis that dings even your casual observation that things may have finally gone to shit. Your joke that mouse droppings in the garage will carry contagion the moment antibiotics stop working will be met with reassurance and no one will laugh. Instead,...
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I’ve laid by her for ten years now beneath these creaking boards an axe between my long-gone eyes a spectacle of gore. She rests beside me so composed in mournful pallid sleep the knife between her once proud breasts buried in her, deep. We once were lovers...
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The Battle

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My friend has

had a baby. I go online, buy a present, click ‘gift wrapped’ (I don’t need to see tiny, sleepsuit feet). I visit them, hold him, even carry him to his nursery, sit in a rocking chair and sway anxiously while I question why my heart weighs more than he does. At the top of the stairs I...
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Return Policy

There’s a squabble of greying women knitting at our local coffee stop. They are talking about dumpster diving—how survival is another’s refuse. I swipe hairs from the bathroom floor, the shower, the sink—knot them together for a winter nest. The girl who...
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.the bear. .lucky elephant. .monkey. .mouse. .yellow bird. .the hawfinch. .words.
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The first time this goat fainted I wanted to pack him in a crate & ship him back home for his safety. It’s hard as hell to watch him lying on his back with his stiff legs in the air & he faints a lot; barking...
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Down to the dust

https://soundcloud.com/rc-james-user841120068/z0001070 Ain’ nuthin’ left here ‘cep six uv us an’ dry stahks ‘a corn. We’re up ta movin west soon as I sort out the T-Ford. Jenny, ma wife, is set to have anuther to make us seven. Got some taters an’ dry beans in the root...
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In November 2017, when the cottonwood trees were golden leaved, I toured Georgia O'Keeffe's home in Abiquiu, NM. —Kelly DuMar
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Man on Knees

Can't recall when the conceit of breaking through barriers into a different & more colorful world occurred to me, but it did. In the film, being here at home represents suburbanite stasis. It represents being stuck in one place:...
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Alleys 3

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Gravity

I play with friction, skin and air, a ripe blueberry between my lips.
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The Autobiographical Note I walk through the gym doors. Steve is doing chest-flies. He yells Hey, Flash! (Steve doesn’t know my name.) Third Person, Past Tense The sky through plate glass was interesting. He should have told Steve how he’d felt about Love the...
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Pre-linguistic

A child chews on his toy Lucid imbecility A baby’s lallation All his l’s are r’s— My dumb joy When I talk like him.
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You are obsessed with the furniture. I don't really care about the furniture. I am lucky if I get to sit on the couch and watch "Dexter."​ Every time I walk out the door you insist on rearranging the furniture so it will be...
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Loose Change

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Roses

https://soundcloud.com/avery-fogarty/roses-original1 I used to be sorry all the time I used to love you I swim in and out of your mind I used to be sorry all the time I used to love you oh Now I'm constantly contested Punched a hole in your wall...
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https://soundcloud.com/user-417500652/muddy-water-woman Muddy Water Woman Down in Missisisippi where the catfish grow long I found her and I promised her someday I’d write a song About a rebel woman whose soul could stir a man To break the chains that bind her, and dare to...
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It’s hot the breeze just lifts and settles. A man sways to dangerous angles. The kids look quick but play anyway. A possum half crushed is half alive so the guy gets a crowbar. He walks stiff hoping he will just die without intervention. This is what...
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. small item . what you see is magnified. they leave here larger than life petrified in their own forests. scan beds and lens. light the cracks, the boxes. tie the books closed, leather bound, broken, words lost. boxes can be opened to reveal. —sbm. .fallen. .before you know. .crumbs. .bandage. .kisses. .ticket. .yesterday's fluff. .my soul. .961. .pinc.
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How’s she goin’? Just passing through, eh? Course you are. They all are. Don’t get much traffic up around these parts anymore. Odd tourist who maybe got lost. Sometimes ‘Mericans that actually mean to come here for the huntin’ and fishin’, but...
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The straightest way to get from this life to the next is by climbing through the sliced-open belly of sky left behind by the stoop of a falcon, she explained. Then she taught me how little I knew about my own language: the prescription by which adjectives are always stacked old...
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never tell a zombie the truth never lie to a zombie never say things to a zombie you wouldn’t say to your own mother never stare directly into the eyes of a zombie never give money to a panhandling zombie if a zombie ain’t...
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Boneyard leaking bones till shifting rivers, tilting hummocks tilling plows of oxen turned to tractor, turned to combine, pull the last remaining shrined remains, and leave the now unhallowed soil to rest in peace.
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Nebula Heartstrings

I painted this in my grandma's old shed, so things got a bit dirty. I kind of liked how dirt looked, so I just made it a part of the painting. —Taylor Bain
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New Year’s Day

Streets seem tired, city, at rest. We move through balloons, confetti, Moët, leftover eggrolls, last night's jest.  
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A bare-bottomed girl runs to a window. Last night her grandfather muttered of a world full of violence, the dread of never- ending rain, fountains overflowing their pools, the earth a mire in which everything dies; her parents penned in, rats under their beds, scorpions in their robes, snakes in the...
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HYPATIA

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Angry Mind

Most of my abstract work is meant to capture an emotional state. Painting is often a cathartic exercise for me. I am naturally introverted, so I enjoy expressing my feelings visually. For me, this painting represents repressed anger, but...
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positive side effect i woke up a few mornings ago with what seems to be a sprained ankle although i can't remember having done anything to sprain it. so i've been taking some back pills that i had in the medicine cabinet. my foot still hurts but...
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Against Poe

Poe wrote "To Helen," considered by many one of the great love poems. "Nicean barks" & "the glory that was Greece," admirable phrases, I admit, but to paraphrase Tina Turner, what's love got to do with them? Poe visualizes Helen as a statue in a niche, all marmoreal...
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A Flurry of Wings

Today is not just one cup of black coffee after another. Today, I have enough melancholy stacked on top of more melancholy to climb up a sad stairway, out of my down-in-the-dumps, here - into the snow-covered mountain peaks of the Hindu Kush. I...
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Sabbath

Angels enforce Holy Writ, while others veer toward the particular Here, children somersault on grass while the noonday sun, outstretched as thine hand O Lord  pours through a suburban home on a dead parakeet’s cage On Sundays, her fingertips flicker over her guitar. With her left hand,...
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My first beer of the Christmas season I knew in the candlelight against the stained oak countertops that I should be out smoking a cigarette under the sandpaper night instead of sitting there in my sh-tty jacket wishing I could...
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Christmas and New Year’s move toward us again the old sickening duet the masses coming out of their tv caves the family gatherings the gross dull nothingness, the fake drunks, the fake smiles, the fake people may we live through this somehow, one more time * This “found poem” is a reworking, in poetic form, of an excerpt from a letter that Charles...
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Schrödinger’s Kitten

After I blunt Ming's grapnels with files and buffers, she wolfs down the meat off the pull cup. In the open yard where I grow blush Parfait, beside the bush is a toddler crouching to squat. Covered in dusty indigo, she can be easily mistaken as...
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Nights are hardest to bear. Alone, that smell of us, still heavy and with ghosts, our sweat, our heated exhales. I taste you. I pull you. I sink into a a tangle of tongues. I taste your pillow, the scent of your hair— blue figs, oranges, spit.
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I Fucked the Poet

He was there at the mic with a glow behind his head like a literary god, so I fucked him. Me, two other women, and this bisexual guy named Frank. It was five-bod-fuck and very poetic: Frank got the whole thing on...
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You’re Strange

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LgRU9GzElaw
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one of my first

publishers is retired and living in France. he’s on his second wife and lives on a farm in the country. every now and then he sends me these long, long e-mails talking about the wine, the food, the people and how much he loves his life since he ditched the first wife, gave up...
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Help

mixed media on paper, 2018
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Everyone believes the crippled kid.  A blind and mute paraplegic from birth, the crippled kid lets his older brother, Junior, pad his red wagon with a patchwork quilt and canvas pillow of turkey feathers, cradle his body and set...
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hotel room in little rock there were three of them forceful drunk too angry to care whether she lived or died she swung the cardboard pizza box like a machete it was all she had I try not to depend on anyone I try to understand easing the monsters. They never really...
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The Shearer

The shearer’s oilstone rides the blade’s silver edge. There is a swish as one blade closes over the other. It is a fine tool honed. He wears blue stretch jeans and shoes fashioned from jute. When he bends over a sheep, a sprung...
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Which came first, the chicken or the chicken, the egg or the egg? “Pass the Tabasco,” Buddha said. “By the way, where’s your bowl?” “In the cupboard, Noble One. Giving it a rest today. I’ve got a lot on my plate to contemplate.” "The chicken and the egg?" "No, I mean my personal idiomatic plate,...
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They hug and whisper kind words in the other's ears. They share their home-cooked fares, and delight in the quaintness of the other's ways and customs. They express with kinder words their surprise at the other's warmth and grace. They admire each other's moral codes and are...
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Dougherty: Lyn, what would you say to a young writer who had her sights set on poetry? Lifshin: I’d probably suggest she go for a degree in something she can rely on. The Black Mountain poets never thought of poetry...
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Reverse Rumi

Always live in regret. The past is ever present. There are no new days. Today is no better than yesterday. Look down and backwards with despair. The Almighty has planned no new opportunities for you.
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The Forest

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Yah! There’s something to be said for modern Hep B, HPV and AIDS, but gonorrhea, syphilis, chlamydia— the all-time greatest hits of STDs— keep raising their infection rates! Stick trendy condoms up your ass! Did you imagine rubber flummoxing those masterminds who leveraged bestiality to colonize a...
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This project grew out of my interest with the tension between the documentary nature of landscapes and the fiction of the story they tell. I took away the realism of my photographs to enhance the narrative by using the...
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Twin Journeys Bright Lights
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Dry Aquarium

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When I hear someone claiming they had an imaginary friend when they were a kid I almost say, “bullshit,” but I don’t. I’m not saying they are liars. The subconscious believes what it believes. If someone wants an audience bad enough they will say anything. Not me, but...
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each freckle is a planet in this contained universe, a body that orbits the sun— drenched experience I’m in. I say I worship God, but my skin tells otherwise, sacrificing myself to the heat, the dark brown dreams I have had every summer for the rest...
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Her Secret

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So when can you free up some time to see me? Free up some time? "Time is one thing that's always free" -- remember that, my dear Gottfried? Sounds vaguely familiar. Who said that? You did. Really? Yep, eight weeks ago tomorrow in physics. You handed...
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The Forest

acrylic on canvas with pastel and marker
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I don’t want it to rack up the likes even the nicer obituaries with pictures of charity work and all the good things are cringe I don’t want random fuckers grazing over my Facebook page trying to work out what happened there’s nothing wrong...
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things get whittled down to winners and losers the prizes for naught 'cepting participation 'cause we all find ourselves lost with nothing to kick yeah i misplaced the only-est love i had then the friends the food the will to touch meself the faucet still leaks, though it reminds me of yesterdays and tomorrows, which...
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Fidelity

You have abandoned the day to hide your secrets. I keep your hand, hang the moon in these dark trees as an offering. It’s late, but then on the table — a pot of tea and two cups, waiting.
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Postlapsarian, we carry in pockets, the lumps of perceived iniquities which, distract us from our actual guilt. The impure loin or purloined pear or Pearl conceived by Hester can weight us down, or further tempt the casting of first stones. My fault, my fault, my grievous fault with focus on the my, makes my neighbor...
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Baroque-n Clock

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The Fool

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my-Tune

I take that song and immerse it in a bucket full of cold water, hoping that the song chills me down while I fume for missing my last train home. Today I wring the same song and put it on the clothesline while the sun is...
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Monsoon Abstractions

chalk and charcoal on paper
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this time by a bird whose aim was more direct, on target and effective than any of the critics who dislike me, my poems, my attitude, my way of writing or just my way of seeing things. this bird should write a book and call it “John Yamrus is in my sights...lean, mean and as i see him”... it’s a little...
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Wetware

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You Are Here

Soon there will be more tattoos on the planet than people, more ink on skin than on paper. We are already reading each other more than books or newspapers. I am thinking of having X you are here in blood red ink inscribed directly over my heart. I am thinking if I indelibly mark the spot, & leave a permanent note to myself, I...
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Lysergic Deviations I

".. Some are Born to sweet delight, Some are Born to Endless Night."-- Subhadeep De Mixed-media on paper
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The Familiar

Oh, you’re one of those, she said. Yes, I said, sadly, I am. And then I said, You’re not, I take it. She had just returned from a surgery involving the known world. Her eyes were visioning… big data, one would...
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Bad Habits

My gay friend told me he masturbates three times a day. Ewww, I couldn't help thinking.  One of my bad habits,  judging others. But three times a day? I thought, bro, way too much information. And don't you think once a week's enough?
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but if I don't then wheel me to a window in my own house and don't assume I don't understand an acoustic guitar, the hum of smalltalk, or cinnamon from the kitchen. Don't ask me if I remember, behave as if I do. If...
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Nocturnal Caffeination

White pencil and chalk on black paper
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At Lewes we sidestepped insignias like hallowed things but didn’t buy tickets, opting to watch the bay as the ferry shrunk into the cape; seventeen miles was trivial. We didn’t consider the metaphor of shallow displacement or the freedom in rising tides, only impending deaths, that rudderless wind, and the scope...
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Facing the ocean (because you never turn your back to the water, because the waves curl over themselves and rush up with rage like thundering white hooves and you could be somersaulted, thrown and rolled along the rocky ocean floor, spun and jolted like clothes...
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Fistfirst

 
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.we drift.

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Jesus turned water into wine. I smuggled pot. Jesus got nailed by the cops. So did I. Jesus had long hair. Me, too. Jesus walked on water & raised a man from the dead. I got sober, speaking of miracles. Jesus fed 5 loaves of bread & 2 fishes to...
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Wrap up every rock against the weight constraints of the contract. Leave one ghost in the granite garden under the broken palo verde and the other on the maple table by the stove. Consign the gravel drive to the monsoon and make a list...
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Acrylic, pastel and marker on canvas. An exploration of color, shape, and composition.
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Letter provided to Open Arts Forum by Douglas Goodwin.
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Flight

Understand this A moth can be as beautiful As a butterfly. And even the plainest Still has wings. Today, I will not be praised. Tomorrow, not remembered. Still, I am dancing the night In flutters and twirls. This moment is mine.
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I Suffer Fools

It's my best thing. I offer coffee and strands of broken light untangled from the mare's nest of whatever the hell is wrong with you and why am I just learning about this now? I agree with the guiding principle only if it smooths the afternoon into...
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Aquatic #4

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Fading

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Unhurried

316
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Aquatic #3

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Chalk and charcoal on bifold
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Soft pastels on bifold
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Pills

Purple makes you sweaty while you shiver with a chill, and morphs you into Betty when your given name is Bill. Aqua gets you placid, but it has an ill effect: it either leaves you flaccid, or unwillingly erect. Yellow smooths your edges, you’ll be far less tightly...
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Gouache Colors | 21×29 Cm | On Paper |2018
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One Month After

Blink and you will miss her mutinous retreat. Dill in the kitchen window has wilted but not quite gone to seed, books are tossed aside like faulty algorithms meant to solve grief. The blast that once lifted her finally flagged and she fluttered to...
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while I watch a huge ant light-foot up the drainpipe like it was a piece of cake to trot your whole weight perpendicular to earth I wonder if my difficulties getting through the day are of my own imagination rather than the physics of an actual predicament
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The Selfie

Holding it right is half the challenge. The other is not to shake before the click. They say that the aim may change due to the pressure applied by the finger. To think that in the old days they had to handle the powder...
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I’m befuddled by the wind, how it blows; it has this bodiless direction. I can feel it kissing my face. Hey wind, you strange warthog— how can you touch me so, when I can’t touch you? I'm befuddled by the starlight drip over Wagner Butte. When did the...
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Widow and Child

An interpretation of Claude Monet's Woman with a Parasol. — Subhadeep De Water colour on paper
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https://soundcloud.com/ian-badcoe/sets/crowd-cloud-found-sound
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It’s what I do

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There is never betrayal in the space between boxcars where his face still tilts towards the old life he left. The new life has already scrawled itself in graffiti pastels that end with an imperative and steel-coupled air. She should live in that swaying niche, call...
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They glamourise war with their literature, support Mexico w/ the import of narcs, fry pretty much all their food, & negotiate hard. They let their children play w/ glocks, chew tobacco—spit nastily at the emptiness of pavements. They hold democracy high aloft their heads, shoot unarmed black...
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Gajra

Since 7 months Rita and I were living in the same apartment but merely as occupants sharing the same roof. Our 4-year marriage was on the rocks and divorce was just a few months away. Both our lawyers were...
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  GIF versions of "Fine On The Outside," and "Another Look at Delta" below:                                                    
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Melon Man

—RIP Koko, The Gorilla Who Used Sign Language, 1972–20 June 2018* Sheep in wolf’s clothing, Melon Man’s what the Town and Country grocery with biggest best batches of sweetest honeydews at bargain basement prices called me. Green magumbos just ripe enough so my orangutan thumbs could...
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Rain

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abstract

abstract

acrylic/ 28×22 cm /on paper
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f9

f9

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Shine Me Through

https://soundcloud.com/rc-james-user841120068/track-4
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Coyotes

And then the sky opened. The world filled with blood. Cameras caught it all, buildings wrenched from their foundations, anger and sirens and stench. We were tired of marching, of whispering, sick from the reek of smoke. By then, my parents were dead, but they had seen it all...
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What began as a way to pass the time soon became the time I got lost inside the city’s blanket of haze. What was supposed to be mundane soon became the time I got lost inside the neon light of the street. What was supposed...
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Guest Hiding Mistakes Sweet (2) Home Up The Light Reach 35 mm film photography with digital manipulation  
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Late in December 2016, struggling to make peace with Donald Trump’s ascension to the Presidency of the United States, poet Tom Riordan wrote his first “Trump” poem, and he hasn’t stopped since. To date, Riordan has written over 350...
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I keep saying I'm not going to another holocaust movie.  But then I do. The latest one set in Augsburg, 1958, when twenty-something Germans thought Auschwitz was nothing more than a POW camp and their teachers, their fathers & their uncles had been, at worst, good Germans,...
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Alleys

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I don't like mango but I’m compelled to consume space, to savor the liquid, label all the rays upon my tongue, such sweet perspicacity. A citrusy mist collides with taste at the speed of sound, an explosive parade of chest-bound fate. I am an imposter but I taste city lights, the salty crunch, a...
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rather not

low over june’s dusk grass the fireflies’ sparse steeps all float away in one direction in the gentlest of arcs then as my ramble loops back so the grazing lumens flock drifts like a compass pin to keep a slow right angled optical illusion of departure
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Phonetics

I thought you said alphabetic, and picture plastic letters filled with magnets, colorful refrigerator doors. “Apologetic,” you argue.  “I was trying to apologize.”.I wonder if anger is the new I’m sorry. .You continue to talk but I don’t hear anything— I rearrange consonants with vowels as...
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She called it a perfect afternoon — we had just left a poetry reading and were enjoying our coffees on a café couch beneath a red umbrella slightly shaded from the hot Florida sun. We were reading some of the short ones from a thick...
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W

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even

before the hour sounds, we are already sitting with the dead.
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we dangle from a single thread​ pendulous from the bars ​ on the upswing to the hot plates​ ​ on the down ​ to the soft shrapnel of coal​ ​ if you’re lucky some doctor with halitosis ​ will tell you the time you have left ​ ​ if...
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I had nothing but tears warm as blood a hemorrhage of grief all that day and through the night. They took my nail file and pocket knife and set someone there on constant watch in case I found the sudden energy to act. But I’d lost so much, the...
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don’t frown don’t kick the door don’t slap the chance it’s a sensitive bad-ass don’t zip up the wound if it begs to expose don’t turn on the light if you have no idea what monster waits for you in the closet don’t crush, don’t crash and if you have to, don't...
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You are the mirror into which we plunge. - Terry Wolverton Here at the border, the river runs clear. We can see our faces as they ripple in the sun, our bodies so thin they’ve nearly disappeared. We are falling from a great height. We have left...
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Part I Part II
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Peer

A self-representation of the door and its meaning.—Faizan Adil
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Sonnet

Though night eats its way out of the sack That cat is in, yet still the caterwaul Of promises defeats the constant scrawl Of secrets tattooed stiffly on the back Like the whip marks or elevated track Across the city’s underlying wall Of poverty. They...
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Moving Day

I swore I would not get sentimental about leaving the porch swing behind. We painted it red to match the floor—the front door. I swore I would not write about singing "Moon River" to my midnight newborn while watching headlights blur down Maple Street. Just...
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a familiar place   our dreams quarreling  over petty things you've never been here    but seem at home familiar   what isn’t is vertigo i adapt to it   adopt it somehow though it is yours  though you shouldn't  be here   you...
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nor smash it with heavy stone pestle let it be spoiled with caress of cubic sugar gently, as your wrist dances like a Sufi in Sema and your lips whispering the grandma's spell let this mermaid in red rest on the bottom of a...
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bukowski

back in the 70’s back in LA I knew of him as the uncouth Christ of the drunk-again alcoholics the naked emperor of young trendy-cafe chefs and of the intellectual and the pseudo-intellectual trust-fund kids who wished to be like him by living in decrepit houses the lawns of which they littered...
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Old Glory

Old Glory at half mast atop the White House so some well-off white must have been shot not by a cop who took his cell phone for a gat but a civilian armed à la the Bill of Rights
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First, turn on the lights. Ghosts drift toward shadows. Use the sin of omission as if it was a life raft, and you can’t swim. I can swim, of course. As a child I swam in tanks, throwing rocks before getting into the water to scatter...
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Sheep

Only a sheep goes up any time to find help or comfort up it...
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IN A CAMPER

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fMOJ7SlgFKw
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an illustration that I made for a book with poems for children by Jordan Trethewey. —Marcel Herms
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at this point in the game, i guess i’m supposed to be writing things like: “sands at 70,” “the end is near,” and “ode to my lost and misspent youth”... but i get the feeling that i ain’t done yet. not by a long shot. so give me what you got. i’m tough. i can take it. go ahead. i double-dog dare you.
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I'm growling, moaning, surrounded by men— they think I'm their entertainment. But no, you're mine— you only exist when I breathe you all into me and stab your knees with paper cuts. You're flounder- ing, such a fragile shard. Look at me when I speak— pick that up. I'm going to tell you the truth.
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These poems speak in the manner of hard-boiled detective fiction, rich in the dictions found in Chester Himes, Raymond Chandler, Ross MacDonald and Dashiell Hammett & as do those authors listed, the poems employ their particular patois to drive...
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While    you   were    out     of    town             I       went    to   your  house   and I     slept    in     your  bed    and     I        pet   your    cat  and made        her     purr and       under    your    soft    blanket I        wondered  if    you would           ever  love  me enough that       you   would  want to         kiss     every    inch         of       the walls that    watch    me sleep at       night   and    that is      how   I      feel for you   and that is    why    I   am  here now  w a i t i n g          for      you  to come home, sometimes      it seems  the  only  way                   to   love      you    is       to    wait. Will    your   memory   foam mattress        tell     you       I    was     here? I         fell         to   sleep   like     I          was      in       your   arms. I    watered    the   plants.   I              fed    your        betta  fish just   in        case     you         had      forgotten   and      if       the    flowers     on           the  kitchen table     don’t  tell   you,        I        will: I        miss          you           more than I should and          you’ve       left        holes          that                I        can’t          fill.
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These are the few poems I managed to write about the very intense and sometimes violent relationship I had with a woman called Miki who I met on my first solo trip to Japan, some years ago now. I really...
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Working with found items, the work has been investigating collections, wunderkammer, cabinets of curiosity. The process entails museum visits, research, writing and producing imagery, refined into a personal statement on my findings. Objects, manipulated, covered, layered, the issues not hidden. Images of...
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Odorous

when trump's words fall on my deaf ears their odor reminds me of the smell of burned flesh on the breath of bavarian beer hall bullies
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cutouts i am beautiful pale museum quality bone i don't speak of the things that were cut away boxed in the garage or hung in the closet with piano string there are bits too hidden in the broom's straw or wiped into the edge where counter meets sink i get what i...
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Read He makes a steaming cup of me to drink alongside the morning paper, then lathers me up to be his accomplice under the head of a shower. I am gentle on his tongue, and foam between his shoulder blades. He tells me, “I don’t want...
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A Great Fuck

after something Tiko said Not only was I never a great fuck but I never even belonged to that vast class of people who once thought they were. I have fucked people who thought they were and one person who actually was and that’s about...
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S.P.E.C. Zero

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Skin The

animal day with a pocketpenknife in your fist. Guide the edge with your thumb, peel to bone white. Get a day off as one pelt. Stretch taut over a hollow, make a drum to beat as your hands do your lungs. Remake the day.
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Reprise

https://soundcloud.com/user-739698917/reprise From her sleep my grandmother faded through the mesh of supposition that bore the image I had constructed as a child. Her untidy halo snagged barbs of memory, became flags that marked her boundary, fluttered briefly in surrender, then dipped to recognise...
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Simone Weil looks out of a black and white photograph set inside a simple silver frame which sits on top of a polished August Förster piano. the piano is overly ornate and doesn't look pleased to be so garishly carved and decorated and Simone doesn't look overly...
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absence has a simple scale nought or one distinct steps like piano notes joy and sorrow are parabolic mirror images glissando exponentials like the birth of your smile how you turn away when leaving the intensity of waiting is a constant a straight line that separates dimensions like...
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Giants

We are stars trying to collide, objects caught in our orbits dashed to rocks in process mean nothing; we merge. Made massive, other light is bent in our direction so we keep shadows hoarded under skin we share, no place for hidden hazards in paths plotted long before we were given names or...
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only we had the tickets to get into a Butthole Surfers gig after some idiot in the NME had put it out that tickets would be on the door that night a huge crowd had gathered outside the venue and there wasn't a single ticket valid except ours pushing through a tight...
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mixed media on canvas, 50 x 60 cm
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If you're lucky, you catch the early train If you're wise, you're early to bed To get up early to go back again Healthy, wealthy, and dead.
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Pity Sex

I was being a bit contrary when I named this ... one thing certainly does not seem to inform or be part of the other, title and picture ... and I kinda liked being that difficult and sort of...
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since I’ve dreamed anything that was not nightmare This spring with goslings in the roses, tulips and crocuses pushing color thru crystal ice, I hardly notice the wood ducks. I don’t hear geese in flight. I used to dream goose music, scan black ripples walking back from the pond. Before I photographed the last light glowing in dark woods the...
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Barfly

Mixed media on paper, 30 x 40 cm
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Kyoto is doing great, especially since the Kyotographie festival just started. As a photographer, I naturally always look forward to this event. Here's my personal contribution... —Mark Preier
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I couldn't help but smile when a bird outside our kitchen trilled "Whew whew whew!" Then it switched to "Wee-oop whee-oop whee-oop!" "Listen to that!" I cried aloud, as Kim kept chopping her kale. I went to the screen for a toke while the bird continued. The singing...
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https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4lHlOTkrQ34 Melinda red blood in the white snow the curtains are dying ...and the things I used to know she drinks before noon wild black tequila, her only chance to make it through summer her daddy's at the bottom of the bottle and I don't know if...
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Awake the pollen grains and log each tiny particle gone with the wind onto our most secure of networks. There's notice served. It's time... smaller, smarter moving parts: our install base, a choice of legs or wings or wheels or blowin' in the wind;...
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The pinkie of your left hand is very small. You rarely ever finish almond milk, you make a face while eating cereal, always pull hair of older sister Tanu, and loudly scream when you return from school. Your curious heart beats like a metronome and...
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Lose your job, your mind, your husband step over the lines, off the map, into unmarked alleys Talk too fast, too much, too loud, or not at all Balk at the strangeness of ordinary things spot the dark intent behind their bland disguises Walk too close to the...
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Hairry

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In risking the dancing eyes of supermarket girls under fringes, or to chance the scanty graze on busy buses of a nyloned knee, or strappy shoulder, I zip-in some long-absent charmer lest I go running, in my best shoes, across fields to a dawn-wet door with...
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Ahmed’s Sparrow

Tiny winged corpse, trapped inside the aluminum frame of a storm window; Ahmed freed the frozen, fragile body with his pen in hopes that it would fly again; trees bereft of birdsong.
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Maria

I chase a cat who scampers across the beach. Her gait's mysterious; assured yet zigzag and every few moments she stops to tease. I pant and puff but carry on and on. She is anonymous. My mind is coming up with names. A Betty...
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"Rhymes in poems are dead," he said. I laughed and shouldered the bazooka, shook a Vicodin from the bottle and chased it with gin. (Now I'm all-in, you dig?) The room started to spin. I grabbed the mantle like...
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Fell asleep inside him after wind slipped through a window, found a crack into my absent mind. Tomorrow lurks around our edges, minutes fall down at our ears; a train, engine idle, takes him too far for comfort, too soon by far. Less tall when laying together more than...
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Most times though we’d sit with trays on our knees the microwave cartons full of steaming food too hot to touch at the edges and a tad too cold in the centre we ate with the blue grey haze of tv light painted across...
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We carefully handle our sub-zero Winter secrets. But like last year, they begin to dissipate from consciousness until, like barren tree limbs, we forget they ever held leaves. As sprinting daffodil spikes and tulip skewers burst through thawing soil, we unfold stale box...
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Unit 6

A couple of Bath Salts addicts moved in upstairs. Each night, the entire building can hear 'em eating each other's faces.
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