Category: Poetry

a rhythm builds keith haring robots that sing basquiats into the paint who reproduce on a warhol bridge kept cool in a duchamp fridge not to be flushed the streets come alive pushing a pollock tide with dali melt inside a kandinsky…

to drop acid on a conversation to burn it to the ground i do not like the sound of this hate inside a labyrinth central figure on a plinth hat and badge and bullshit flag loop a chain around and drag drop…

cigarette burning down built in an ashtray it means little but a standing insult walking out of the room leaving an exclamation mark behind we have sat here amongst this elbows in tables staring across the room wondering where it leads why…

the coathanger inside i am clothes waiting for a pose what arose by any other name? there is a game that we are playing where we stand at the side saying be something long lasting not the typical casting heavy dice and…

i will never tire of fuck yous to the imbeciles of hate who feel they can dish on the kids trying to shape the future from the cutouts of themselves dust gathers on the shelves i don’t want to be the shadow…

the need i read page-turners sentences that escape their boundaries slip through fingers enjambement slide i grab as many as i can stacked around, waiting i am never really contemplating not reading them half reading them each book marked i’m a reader,…

i am pulling lines out i would lose in the dissolution and pollution of collectivism i am a prism breaking the prison into shattered rainbows where the rain goes pools in the puddles that dream themselves mirrors i am a ball of…

my eyes do not see unkind to blind to unable to find you because unable to find self i built the shelf guilt’s silt inside unsure shore delivered by the tide building a damn to hold back the flow which drowns so…

a new story a news story a we knew story a we’re blue story multi-stories parked above the grave of aplomb a headline a byline a bomb some days you just wish all the reporting was gone

those frozen moments nostalgia sepia they creep in seep deeper hold you hostage like a dream caught in the fade before dawn wakes into day the hands are static the action automatic the pause held like a dancing moment you seek them…