"if you want a revolution / return to your childhood / and kick out the bottom // don't mistake changing / headlines for changes"

just a note about me misquoting Jack Micheline

Beauty Is Everywhere

Beauty is everywhere
Baudelaire
Even the worm is beautiful
The thread of a beggar's dress
The red eye of a drunkard
On a rainy night
Chasing the red haired girl
Baudelaire
Across the sky
Your raggy pants
Laughing at the rain
Beauty is everywhere
Baudelaire 

— Jack Micheline

Erect Monolith of Ham

sketch: desc. of location (as man), 061420112044

There:

Off to the left on the ash tiles below the legs
Of the yellow folding table, they do not wish to be ID'd
Beneath the lights ( clearly

Disappear, scurry, scurry, disappear


Fans stir the otherwise contemplative air, the night I try
Grabbing the vein — bug wisely — I swear with my eyes, they hide (scurry
Scurry

Now ( There is a woman there

Off to the left on the rotten tiles by the legless
Yellow folding table, moving moist jeans
From machine to machine

     He rubbed his knuckles across the stubble on his chin.

     "All my things are here, aren't they?"

Woman:

How best to appeal Councilor? Tell me. If I must be guided, guide me.
There is a rambling now an exploitation of words, and as I rise a rush
Of blood-like cue cards, haughty explanations quick against the bone

Quick

Against the skin, the cold grey tiles beside the ash, the piled upon reason
This quickening grey bone, tell me, Councilor
Guide me

Press yr lips to my neck
Do not only take away this pain
In silence press yr lips
Do not take away its pain.

you are strong

my memory's startling ability
to unsee the real
is not directly connected
to the depth of
my imagination; once i
know you are a
weakness i will never
believe you are strong.

"I stole her nervous hands / her addiction to sweet, soft smells"

"From my mother I inherited my looks and a tendency to migraine. From my father I inherited an optimism which did not leave me until recently." Joan Didion

I stole her quietly waiting on the grocer's line

reading the covers of magazines like a tourist

I stole her nervous hands

her addiction to sweet, soft smells

I stole her short, yellow fingers; her fear

I stole what she generously gave

I stole $15 from her purse, her last $15

spent so quickly, whips of remorse

I smile, opening her varnished music box

desperate for what is inside

I stole her stoicism but not her tearfulness

standing over the frozen soil

I stole her nail biting, the bruises and benign wens trailing her arms

I consider stealing her walking away

from where the grave should have been dug

her passive choices, her hollow body

rides over each crumbling ocean wave

I steal some more money from her wallet.

sketch: up from the cracks purple, lips, light a seed

everything abstract

the numbers concrete and growing

up from cracks in purple, lips, light a seed

a horizontal bloom immediately, then

nothing abstract, even abstraction

she's lying out on the couch, no there's a better word

now she's laying out of context across the bed, sheet

wrapped around her legs, light a seed

a horizontal bloom, then immediately

everything abstracts, my glasses tossed pejoratively

to the floor, i hear fan blades, the dismissal of my body, i see

the sweat soaked into, the judgment immediate

the internal rhyme, light a seed

horizontal bloom, then immediately

soft edges abstract, her beauty smooth in the sweet strawberry

of summer, i am not merciful because i have tasted mercy

i am merciful because i have tasted my own mortality, weakness

the blossoming, bluish blame of she sees the body and moans

the internal i, wrapped around her legs

i am merciful, abstract, floating on the palm of a forgiving breeze

i am merciful, wrapped around her legs

i am merciful.

@BogotaHorribLe

james murphy sits / on jersey sheets / slices stars / tinkers w horizontal bars / in the dark / revives wordless weirdo kids / deadpan scars

Joshua Reynolds: Portrait of the Artist, 1780

skinny arms so tired sunday
times spread across the table
kenny clark barely ascendant
over the twitching din of cars
i sense that love has passed
not chasing the bus

alive three hours now
in northern new jersey
a stand-in for the hudson
which shadows the soul
four fingernails peeling off
a little dead skin

[unfinished, 052920110832]

it has been too long since i've fucked a blonde girl 052720111625

page after page plate
after plate it is obvious
to one willing to study
there are no straight lines.

young queen victoria
tightens her pelvic muscles
with temperate purpose
eliminates the last remaining
vertical slash.

i've tipped the begging dog
victoria's cocksure grip on graphite
the trumpet-like moon the hat implies
behind the nightly swirl of trees.

i see watercolor for the first time
do not retreat into its motion
its high-wire act black and gold
gold and black i am willing to study.