Brand "X" , and ACME, poems and stories. Surreal, sappy, funny, horrific, and human.
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]
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]
Old age is a smarmy being that pushes you from behind, confusing you with multiple choices and dithering doubts. Cutting some strings, and tightening others, it challenges your daring of pain, and wants your attention during sleep. Ah, this life and its just desserts. *** Art by Remedios Varo
“I have a hunger” - Those words,spoken in a formal manner,were as stillborn, as heavy as a stonecradled in an apron.And, what does one do with this thing you’ve said-you, who were always the comic,furthest from the dead.Taken aback,in slow shock I cup your hand-not leading you to bed,but into nightfall’s garden.We sup on the... Continue Reading →
I think of what the skin holds in, what's in the bone, alone. The finds of the fingers that linger. What's unsaid beneath the teeth. *** photo credit: https://openchurch.com/free-download/photo-of-womans-face-in-shadows-1004047/
At times,I am one for shrouds- the fogs of morning, the smokes of burnings, squints through filmy windows. Oh these private mysteries, these fond imaginings- Manet, Monet, Degas, Renoir.I pick and choose. I fetch, in polaroids I etch. *** [Image: https://pixabay.com/users/johnnyjohnson20430-812216/ ]
and this day has a nevermind feel the soulful king is full of regret~hands off~ he knowswatch those whispersfor they betray the teabag tumblesin morning mumblesdo not touch the lingering cathe's spiny he's moonyhe knows, too this boat floats with just a whistle *** [Image: https://pixabay.com/users/dpexcel-5262680/ ]
Oh you, by the window- all metaphor and innuendo. Granny fists at the ready to cauliflower my ears, to pummel my donkey resoluteness. And I say Why Don't You Make Me? ~More malleable~ *** [Image: https://pixabay.com/users/mythicson-12927017/ ]
Daguerreotype is the day,ancient as I drive. Beside me she is a ghost,and I can't speak to the veil-the closed idiom of her soul. OrI am the ghostand have simply lost the languageto this often-paved way.*** They got into the car just the same, even though this was a frivolous trip. Even though she knew... Continue Reading →
AreMyFeetOffTheGround 