languidly laying underneath the heavy red blanket
the smoothness of my bare legs feel every fiber
smooth skin extending from my toes upward to my thighs
two legs parting, two hands feeling
eyes closed, smoke wafting like mermaid hair in the tide
to caress my senses
fingers dip in my little pool and trace ribbons over my hip bone,
over the cleft in the center of my belly
over mounds of breast
sinew of neck throbbing as my right hand returns down
my heart beats in anticipation of my special touch
the same as the day before, the same as tomorrow\'s
my legs entangle with the red blanket
i dance, a heliotropic motion
things i learned:
girlfriends get jealous when you talk to their boyfriends
sometimes boyfriends go by other names, like \'special friend.\'
that makes me think of retarded kids in short yellow buses
with seat belts, because they are \'special.\'
you can drive all night in a straight line,
taking naps in between little towns like \"my anus\" and \"keen city\"
where the prison population is greater than the outpatient population.
everyone is an outpatient waiting to be let in,
codependency shackling wrist to ankle in pharmaceutical shape,
all the colors of the rainbow, even camouflage.
over the rainbow, no over the rain-boy, dr
Can I find the trick in the bag?
The last drop in the can?
Will I kick the bucket or fall flat on my back in a feeble attempt?
Will I find that glimmer of sex in your eye and polish it, make it shine?
Like antelope's horns,
proud atop their graceful head.
Like a trophy on your mantle.
We will watch and see.
Looking for the truths I want to find,
gleaming over what I don't want,
into the bag past pebbles and stones
Past shame and deceit into pride and
to rise like a climaxing storm or descending jingoism.
Deep into the abyss of light colored eyes
Or stench of shit or swirl of spit
burrowing into my breast
My thoughts strayed to her, to him, here, there
As I was touching her.
Revisiting the streets of the big accident
A crowd around a street magician
Broken, on the pavement
Cars like accordions
Wrinkled like paper.
Looking through the cracks in the fence
Between the red sun beaten slats
Into the kitchen window
Walking on the dank dry
Stink of the carpet
Walking through the kitchen
Finding a hollow dog carcass by the stove
Body outlined with dust
Spider-made sheets in the toilet bowl.
Remembering the turtle dashing across the
Expanse of the short green grass.
The bullet lodged in the dog's thigh.
I stop before rounding the bend
On the corner
Sits a purple house with curly green trim,
Dimpled glass on its open windows,
Chain link fence encircles it
It's protected from escaping
It's gutted, like a fish
The remains are left
Next to the open slice of concrete
Neat piles arranged by gravity
Outside the window pane
When elements of home
Are pulled out like intestines and bone
White hard hats
Curse like sailors and throw it away
At 9:45pm no one is home
The windows are still open
That fence does not work at night
The corners sag in weariness
No wife to cook dinner
Or peel the dust covered shoes from exhausted feet
it's very bizarre, some of the photos i've taken have been moved to 'scrap' which is weird because i try not to put things that i consider 'scrap' on here... how do i edit them back to "un-scrap"?
this is annoying- i see things like snapshots and other artwork of low caliber (i would not even say artwork) and it's not in the scrap section... i dont think my photos should be there.
go subjective policing...
drats, my account has run out... and i forgot that there are no more thumbnails when previewing. how did i live without this before dan gifted me? gah!
i am drinking champagne right now, a toast to you!
how do you make still life look like there is feeling or emotion to it? i mean, things not portraits of people... does this question make sense? if you can respond with experience or other artistic examples i'd be grateful.