i captured the moment
cupped hand over hand
from what comes afterwards

and you captured the sun's magic on your shoulder
trapped glistening and obedient in soft down

and the warm breeze made the field of grass
bow and pray that it too would never forget

the teacher showed me sketches he had just finished:

undulating horizontal layers of sand and earth - purples, blues and pinks -
a pastel landscape punctuated by pillars of green and deep brown

impossibly thin lines of infinite blackness defined
the vertical spaces made of flesh and bone, life and death

if you listen very carefully,
you can hear the universe being born

katherine

Katherine walks out into the common room -- eyes wild, pupils inflamed with fire and anger -- seeing what others deny.

Her swollen breasts lay on her equally swollen belly. On her dark belly, an even darker line marks, "This is where life starts over."

Following a script no one else can read, she moves like a shadow across the room.

She walks around to my back. With a delicate finger she utters and burns a curse against my skin as horrible as death.

The ancient tree looked down obstinately at the fresh young vine as it was beginning to make its way up the tree's weathered bark.

"Why should I let you live?" asked the old tree.

"I am older than you are, and I know where you came from," replied the vine.

"I am the dream that you cannot quite remember, the first song that you sing in the morning. I am the cord that binds the rings of your life."

The ancient tree looked down obstinately at the fresh young vine, as it was beginning to make its way up the tree's weathered bark.

"Why should I let you live?" asked the old tree.

"I know why the jaguar looks at it's feet," replied the vine.

i watched the wounded animal
down the barrel of the rifle.
as it was dying, it gifted me the wonder of the forest.

back through a narrow shaft of space,
along the bent-light arc of the bullet,
the old creature pierced my heart.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~




...therefore the brilliance, if present at all, lies in the concepts, not in the works themselves. Concepts are low on market value, so continues the comical scene: throngs gathered and bowing before multi-million-dollared blank canvasses, praying to the god of art, lest they be one of the heretically uninformed.

the sun is shining and i feel so...

this sunshine is so cold cold cold and weak and the color of bile arching east to west casting shadows on a wet blanket of earth

a brown yellow spiteful orb that can barely illuminate it's own shortcomings

the substance of faded cold-to-the-touch plaster and shrill cries and whispering half-decayed corpses