Category Archives for art

fragments

fragments. i read a poem in the streetsheet called “i used to love the rain” – and tonight there is news of a homeless person freezing to death in our bay area snowy chill. my cold has progressed to the willy-wonka-colorful-globstopping stage and my throat is still sore. my parents love me. we spent the day together yesterday. we all watched the belly dancer last night at the kasbah and robert is nearly forty but several of his friends didn’t show up; i watched the woman across the room who looked sick and leanne roused sam up for bellydancing. kesin sent us a valentine and it made us happy and sad. i would love to be up playing in the snowflakes tonight and i haven’t nearly walked in the rain enough yet; i can frolic knowing i can go back to my warm home. can you go back to your home? do you have a home? is there warmth in this home? are we grateful, are we sad?

the fading.

the fading.
how long does it take to fade? like fireworks descending over sleeping beauty’s castle; like ‘ i’ll take you in my two weak hands and throw you so high; watch you fall forever into the western sky ‘ ; like animals hot on the scent of a drug ; a bombsquad dispatched to the embassy ; the rolling after the lightning ; the tumbling after the cliff ; the flying, always flying ; it will fade, she said.

slaughter

slaughter begets slaughter. we kill to eat so we can eat to live. “and the following springs are silent of robin song.”
the recipe for manifest destiny: crush bones of animals of all kinds together into heaps of crazy powder, repurpose to feed and scatter back into the food chain. but — in the process — something goes — terribly — wrong. enter a new kind of killing; every single killing at once new and ageless. holes poke quickly into the brain. live cattle feed upon dead cattle. might the live cattle be feeding upon the crazy holes? not in texas, my god — there will be no bad cattle in texas. the live cattle will be be sent off to the slaughter. finally it is clear, cattle bred for slaughter finally merely bred for slaughter.

did i order this? darwin do you think i should understand? outside, the cycle of winter returns and i think of picking the dead flowers off the ground.