Brand "X" , and ACME, poems and stories. Surreal, sappy, funny, horrific, and human.
My opinion is that some go there with two weeks worth of dirty laundry and take up too many washers & dryers. Others come and empty the change machines for their poker games or parking meters, then leave. At least one has stolen a nice sweater, when they thought I was reading my mildewed paperback.... Continue Reading →
Having come from the seas of your storms and decades of disquiet, I step, directionless, on an unmoving Earth. Being tooled for havoc, I despair of knowing what might fill this brazen peace, this wild surcease. [Art: The Ship, by Salvador Dali]
Do not speak of it. Do not see me. Give what you have to give, willing or no, and don't mind the scars. The remnants of your gown, oft removed, keep us coming back for more. But, in time, you will womb a tree that reaches to Heaven. *** [Art by Zdzislaw Beksinski]
~ Though ugly are those thorny trees with octopussy limbs, —I say they're Kings of Forestry- conductors of its hymns.~
I saw a UFO last night- Looked like a pirate ship. But, soon as I turned on the light, it vanished with a blip. Must've seen me- was it shy of being talked about? "Come back!", I said, to empty sky- My light, I turned it out. [Art by Francisco Fonseca]
Forgetting the landscape of shaving, I run the razor sidewise, coaxing a bleed. We have forgotten Corinthian love, or never knew it and wonder if it exists. Wounds, we have, unsalted but unhealed.
Meg had put it from her mind for too long. Today was a day of change and of ending. Which way...which way? Long she had walked. The further away she got from grasping hands and tearful faces, the greater grew her resolve. "God, forgive me." she thought. [Art by Deb Garlick]
From birth, his eyes were like baubles of glass—ornamental. Yet, he had been given a second sight like a vast array of solar sails, fanned and latticed- a sure conduit to enduring memory and the airs of the world. He authored colors, and spoke them into life. [Art by Francis Picabia...The Joy in Blindness]
Our innocence lost in slamming doors and thrown crockery, we ran, jacketed, into ready offerings and prurient teachings. My brother, you did not live long enough to forgive the teachers or cry for the warring giants. [Art by Hugo Simberg]
I whistled well when I was young- An artifice of breath and tongue. It ruffled almost everyone, Save you, my funny shadow. I met you in the grocery aisle Unwitting of your secret smile I hummed a tuneful ditty while I squeezed an avocado. Funny- how you had the nerve So forward, and without reserve,... Continue Reading →
AreMyFeetOffTheGround 