For the past few weeks, I've seriously curtailed my creative activity. Two of my last poems, Red Sailboat and Slo Shook, for me, represented a struggle. In my eyes, they lacked magic, passion, excitement. All the little ecstasies of spontaneous creation. Which I thought I might find again by doing something new and experimental with [...]
i had a dream that when i died they built me a gravestone like a little red sailboat and cast my watery bones out to sea where my thoughts rose and fell with the tide and yesterday’s sky was still magic and each morning i’d push the fish off my deck and shake the gulls [...]
i. beneath the rib of inconsistency, a wing where innocent elbows used to be, mad bloodless moon, catchphrase, a joint of wisdom unsung & crucified the sun has fled from our protection and we are on our child knees begging for harvest ii. the head behaves much like the shoulder a pillar of imaginary softness [...]
over there, on the dope side a man who’d forgotten what he came for and a woman with a buzz as posh as a champagne earring, canary blu electric heels, and a sour cherry song shards of life that set sail in the mind of a glass dream the night was chiseled with light like [...]
When considering what it means to experience a second naïveté, my thoughts generally center on the mechanics of seeing. That is, what it means to see with fresh eyes: to be privy to the kind of penetrating and revelatory perception that is capable of discerning the magical in the everyday. A kind of unitive, playful, [...]
look at the finale like something the raven staged, the cyclic folding of the birds and the second season of our forgetting, successions of warm reptilian summers and exposed machine metal grooves hey, listen to that hi-wire astral applause rotations of a head blade of sound five points of life, tetrahedron of light the sun [...]
Salvador Dalí, Untitled (Soft Monster in Angelic Landscape), 1977 & the day came when we were forced to feast on the entrails of a static balloon, the sky was any color we liked & the moon was fitted (with maniacal precision) by the sap of an unfiltered lemon dream (nothing beats the sweetness of a [...]
