Friday, April 23, 2010

Advice For Writing

Avant Guard words
known or unknown-
the artistic twist;
that slight of hand
that transforms plain to lucrative
the standout from the chaff.

I suppose you don't actively do it
stumbling upon it-
a cinderella story;
working tirelessly
honing and perfecting
then you go around a curve
and the road is different.

What was once boring
is suddenly radical
and the playing field
is falling at your feet, all at once
bowing to your tongue.

There is nothing more to do
than to drive through thunderstorms-
listening to the wiper blades,
narrowing your eyes,
tightening your grip

and waiting for the road to disappear.

Saturday, April 17, 2010

ee

There are no footprints here,
and I confess:
I do not know the way-
but the way knows me.

I'll walk a little while,
before butterflies wander
into my chest-
then I'll walk a little more.

There is no path you see.

For the seeker of new worlds
there are only magical strings
and a heart to follow their gentle tug.

Grotesqueish

Mortality as an art form-
exploring the art of death
as a memento moray
and as a curiosity.

Thoughts of jumping,
cutting,
swallowing
and letting light into one's own mind.

Bashing in the cats scull,
shooting a squirrel off of a fence or
flying through the guardrail
tires still spinning in the still air.

The dead are a touchy lot
their remnants always causing intrigue
but the living always take the blame for bad taste

Considering the beauty of the rosy still waters
surrounding Marat in his tub,
or the pickled shark of Mr. Hirst.

Morbid curiosity.

An artists folly.

Friday, April 16, 2010

A Simple Portrait

Cinnamon.
Dark chocolate.
The smell of rosemary in butter and lemon juice.

Steinbeck,
Hornby,
Gaiman,
Austen,
Thompson and
Kerouac.

Rainy days;
muggy nights.

Black and White Photos;
packages in the mail;
hand written letters.

High heels and lace;
Johnny Walker whiskey;
cash to burn.

Blue eyes.
Wavy Hair.
Warm Smiles.

The smell of a Hotel.
Being barefoot on carpet.
Boots on the Beach.
Love in my heart.
Tears on my cheeks.
Tired hands.

Dylan,
Cooke,
Johnson,
Baez and
Seeger.

St. Vincent Millay and
Collins.

Sanding wood;
brushing away sawdust with an old brush.

Smelling the nape of her neck;
the feeling before you've kissed for the first time.

Hands gliding like kites out of car windows

Hearts on Sleeves;

Squinted eyes to the sun.