Escape
The voice in my head thinks like Malcolm X
but my thoughts escape
as if Pee Wee Herman
had said them
The voice in my head writes like Gertrude Stein
but my digital words escape
as if Grover Norquist
had threatened them
The voice in my head can take a photo just like Jay Maisel
but my photos escape
as if
I had taken them
The voice in my head is all-knowing
it’s aware of big words, math, and punctuation
it can even find Mogadishu on a map
but when my head voice escapes
it acts as if it knows
what I’m saying
***
Look Inward
Safe behind concrete walls
Looking through steel-shuttered windows
Waiting
Never questioning why
Look over there!
Just to the left
No a little more to the right
Wait, no
Further out!
There!
Can you see them?
Can you fear them?
Good.
Then you can kill them
Safe behind concrete walls
Looking through steel-shuttered windows
Waiting
Never questioning why
Yes, yes I see them!
Flow
water flows freely from the artist’s faucet
where it drains to
must be better
for it
the drained artist water
brightly hued with creation
slightly tinged with doubt
wet!
wet! with the knack for
creating the unanswerable question
of…
you want how much?
water flows freely from the artist’s faucet
where it drains to
must be better
for it
***
Hanoi Nixon
“I find it’s easier to just blame everything on Ralph Nader, or even Jane Fonda. Mainly because blaming Erik Prince for anything, is like blaming Two and A-Half Men for all of your millions.” – random quote Tuesday via The Vigilant Lens
Love Poem Number 1.5 Million and Three
really
it’s not you
it’s me
at first
i didn’t mind the reenacting
4…
maybe 6 times was cute
by the 12th
why? was all I could muster
by the 23rd time
i could only cry
by the 56th time
there was nothing sane left to say
by the 127th time
it was criminal
on the 144th reenactment
i was close to leaving
but by then
you should have noticed
yeah.
actually,
it is you.
so
same time next year?
***
A Frequent Frame of Mind
Leaning Towards Vertical
Doors.
Some swing in.
Some swing out.
Others just lie there,
Dreaming of years swung by.
Doors.
Some are hinged.
Some are unhinged.
The unhinged ones,
Are what I’m all about.
***
The Vigilant Lens 