Sole

February 7th: Based on Van Gogh’s ‘A Pair of Wooden Shoes’. Sole I asked of the cobbler, “Is it possible to craft a soleless shoe?”   to which he replied, “You’re a thing of possibility as tied to a body that carries. Who bleeds what is not red and sleeps on that which is not…

L’Arlésienne

L’Arlésienne I gaze upon the Madame so long as admiration permits, hoping by a small chance, she may take note of my heart-like hands and steady the beating of my banal brush. This mystery, who mutes my madness and tames the tenebrific chuckles of a feverish mind. Imagine how richly I could paint the heavens,…

For Juan

January 31st: (A response to Cornell’s: A Parrot for Juan Gris). Started: roughly 8:11. Finished roughly 8:55. In my dorm.) For Juan Who said that parrots were pretenders or that this world smiled when he did? You… custard-lipped Bramante, perched on your notions of ‘would’, when will you learn that digging your maltodextrined talons into…

Untitled:

Inspired by a sketch of The Prodigal’s Return by Sir Edward John Poynter. Into your arms, I return, confessing with a heaving heart and cleaving to your familiar robes to stanch the wounds I accrued by pursuing a blind ambition I’d called sight. How humbling to know it is you who are right and I…

Rib

Inspired by: Double portrait of Marie Krøyer and P.S. Krøyer. The couple portrayed one another (1890). Rib With the working of two hands we note one rib as she pecks the cage of canvas so that others might stitch a coat from the flakes of our fallen fibres. Frustrated over a form her hand cannot…

The War of Rhyme and Prose

The Montagues and Capulets is a tale of tragic throes, yet nothing half as hapless as the war of Rhyme and Prose. Its fragments seem to tell the tale of rhythms crossing stars, that happened by their fervor to foment familial bars. Good Rhyme when met by pretense, in the riddle that was Prose skipped…

The Woman from San Saba

The stories you told and continue to tell are imbedded in my veins like that great, wide river riding the sound of fire past the pasture and into the bucking pen.   Now and again, I come back to this Saba soil, where the sound of your call brands my brain and guides my gallops…

The Poet (Blood From a Turnip)

The tip of the felt, to capture a feeling in passing, is bound to a page in pursuit of its bind.   Here, the willows once plucked are given new leaves as their roots bear fruit in a silent soil, One that puts their toil to labor of a different kind. One where the mind which…

Hermia and Lysander (The Field Trip)

All of life seems to move beyond what we cannot see. Tied to the gaze of one looking and one looking down. Touching and being touched. Moving and being moved.   Children gaze at this imperfect pair- the stars and feeling they don’t understand but do.   A boy kicks a classmate in the small…

Hurt and Hope (Prose)

Hurt Hurt is like the turning of a loose screw into a board left in a damp driveway. The fish in a flat that faces the sea and the single mother on the long road, holding spilled milk to a car seat that bleeds. Hurt is the worm half-stamped by a heel worn out and…