CrowdPainting

Oil dripping from my fingers

Blue, it flows on the floor

People stare as I make them

In Blue, they cry out for more

Paint on brush for a full moon,

And the light that caresses the hair.

Bristles graze in meadows black,

And faces ghost through the air.

I’m fading, and it comes to life.

I drain what I have into it.

I drift streams in the reeds.

I flow on water, on leaves.

I leave the room to take in the scene.

A dream, a fake, a fraud,

just paint that deceives.

I float with the ghosts in air of green,

And stare back at the man who never knew me.

RainRunning

running in the rain

the puddles smokey grey

I splash and prance, gliding

above the surface

I grimace a smile

relaxed face = relaxed mind = smooth ride

I tremble joy and run

for 20 miles

deep in Buddhist trance

the new York Brunch busy bodies

churn the city’s arteries

unclogged, enough fiber to

pass its shit

brown puddles, those I dodge

brown puddles, holy shit laden

the dogs don’t bark

I leap above their backs

dripping above their shrinking backs

I love the dog that loves me back

most do, I dance, they wag

and howl their joy

my rain runs fly

I lie in wait

I watch beside my body ballerina float

the best runs, a work of art

Listen! Listen! breath silent beats my chest

my canvas pavement takes my brush

this time red, yesterday blue and black

my shoes half colored by each day’s work

Child of Light

work in the maze

today just yesterday

and hope to fade away

fog that shades your

gaze

factory for for favorite

works

pumpin’ out like

Mona’s smirk

the art we make makes

Earth look curt

just quick

no time

and then return to dirt

death is fear horizon

behind we shake

the lion

Oz where fiction lies

words write

but don’t equate

beauty idiot in

disguise

child of light

where darkness pries and rakes

face the fumes

fight for your lives

feed the flames

burn down high rise

stock that comes out grey

paint just runs

to whoever pays

The Market’s down

and painters lay

in desks too small

their visions

caged

Child of light

let out your rays

Child of light

scorch the maze

Saturday Night City

Saturday evening cat

slouches down the burning concrete

in the park where the horns blare

and beat.

The dancers crawl and grind on the street

careening necks like cobras in Arizona scorch.

My Monday song, Saturday evening

you snowy drip.

My Monday song, Saturday night

you strangled city wave.

And the dopers and drunks and yuppies and artists

In a vat of neon green

like some boiling antidote disguised as the Poison.

You crowd left fucking in the open taxi-tire-screeching

night.

Mixing bowl, Saturday night

hearing jazz drag the symbols.

Clubs skitter ant bodies to the bars and whiskey sours

churn

the spirit. Alive and burning

Saturday night.

Never end, never end, never end.

Evening cat night black crawls the counter wet soaked in

martinis. The tender strokes while she serves the button-

down plaid and pencil skirt blonde.

Jitter tap

the

cra ack ack ing

wooden floor

Beaming sure

Doing whatever you want.

And tender flirts a tip and blonde pouts and kicks and

grips

the plaid sleeve and pulls away into the steaming night.

10thousand Clocks

I sleep on 10,000 clocks

to feel time pass.

I reach in foggy dreams

from inside my fleeting bubble

and take a drink from the nightstand.

Rolling over, numb to nighttime chatter below,

I crunch glass time

beneath my weight.

The hands continue their journey

and pull at my suffocating skin.

I sleep on 10,000 clocks

and never leave my bed.

I need to feel time’s vibrating touch at all times.

Spiders

Under my skin, the spiders crawl, They build

a fire to dance around; they lead me scratching to

their

rhythm. Spiders that never unveil their bodies infest

mine. They

never bite or scratch, just dance unfazed by the

halting machinery inside me. At night it’s the worst.

They teleport from my forearms to my calves. I plunge beneath my furry spread to scratch at nothing but

sedate haris resting atop my skin; they’re gone. I sleep contorted with spasms and fury. I peel my

skin to take a look at my spindly guests. In the night,

I see their red flame left behind. In the night, they leap back and forth, eventually infesting my mind. And

I dream about the webs where I lie; and the queen that

surrounds, and the X dripping on her rounded back. She watches as I squirm; as I lose control. Each twitch

wrapping me tighter. Each cry floating me further into the nightmare. I know I’m

dreaming, but the fangs she dangles are more real than any of the spiders that dance in me during

the day. And when I reach out in false bravery, she clamps down and injects me with

millions of her young, who only dance in their prison

under my skin, their eternal shelter from reality.

Smear

I paint my canvas smear;

the color of the universe

too fast to see

shaking ceaselessly

with fear.

I paint the world my shade of joy.

My unknowing unraveling present.

Scattered memories of smiles and laughter

fill in the crevices i dodge

Unknown—putrid, runaway unknown—send me

fear for pastels and

detective hands for brushes

And too rigid my stroke

to paint the world electric

I paint my canvas smear;

too slow, I paint still.

Afterrun

the black nail

withered and fell

to the dirt road

as he ran his hundredth

mile. Up cedars and pine in

what was to be his last time.

he squirmed and wiggled and gritted

his way to the finish line.

this race was no different than the hundreds before.

tossing and turning in the weeds and mud

under panting clouds.

new air was breathed into him and he

showered victorious.

the crowd lifted him up

and strove off to the bar down the dirt road and over the mini mountain.

beers all around! burritos piled his plate.

miles and miles and miles and miles

to fill his hungry runner’s gate.

the hours roll on

the runners tumble in

the bar bloats with friends

a town deserted stuffs its face,

hanging over wooden stools

crunching saw-dust floors,

pumping cheers in the musky air,

dripping tears of joy and survival.

Morning Mocha Pins

Coffee whispers through the wood

And my body floats erect

A golden pot that glistens should

Kiss the flame’s neglect

A fire raised before I rise

alights the blackest mourning sky

My walls shed blue frigid ice

Sirens lift it while I lie

The city’s still as stone

The walkers chatter and moan as clichés condone

My room is bare (save the coffee air)

Inside, I call this home

The springs erupt as I get up

To turn the kettle free

My day seems frozen in the cup

Where my Mexico coffee should be

The boards whine low with scorn

They plead my feet avoid them

More,

and tear my skin

with their mocha pins

So I sip my coffee, torn

Full

I’m too full to move

my toes swell

I see flashes of chunky red

like when I shit without being fed.

Unwell the well ends quick.

The water in my pit’s

ready

to burst.

I’ll spit enough to quench entire Africa’s thirst.

The seams, they plead and plead.

Every hole awaiting its mole.

Explosive.

Convulsive, but

not until I run.

But not until I’m don…….

interrupted by bubbles.

Boil me in water clean

and scrub my reeking spleen.

The shit’s on the walls and ceilings and stalls and fans

my medicine, man, can’t hold my hand

Wolf

Bought a wolf on the Black Market

today.

Barked

, bit, and

gnawed my finger tips.

I thanked him;

no nails to bite,

no nervous tic tonight.

I thanked him;

ripped my love seat,

White.

I saw the cotton gushing from a hose.

Bought a wolf on the Black Market

yesterday.

No noise today;

wolf clawed hole in wall

and had squirrels to play.

Wrote a bit

and

blazed in it.

Bought a wolf on the Black Market;

day 3.

He crept all day dazed.

Howled at the sun. Ran around the party. Friends left holy,

buzzing.

Bought a wolf and now I’m dying.

I will my life to him;

he made me who l am.