Art is…How we make pain beautiful.
Gone hunting withThe governor’s daughterLooking for quail in red skiesSymbols of collective demise
Vermin has to be smoked out, with harsh means if necessary.
I want to be nakedand begin
(Paul Van Ostaijen, Flemish poet, 1896–1928)
This is Abby.
She sits in Las Vegas, NM, on my art sideboard, looking at me in her various stages of done-ness. The photo…
what if we looked at the stars our feet anchored in dark soil and felt very very small, like seeds…
So here you are.
From the fog of a never ending night
cold air of snow escapes your mouth i planted my last and only desire on.