Monthly Archives: January 2013
New Brighton Resort
Review: Chan-wook Park makes a perverse American debut with Stoker
We Can Be Read
years as chapters bisect life,
sometimes unread
others cluttered with paragraphs,
three daughters and a father,
unseen almost for novel length,
new lives
new mortal possessions ,
at an abstract distance
they had gone,
his bitterness a vile oil
through birth and extension,
then connection made,
grandchild opaque eyes
face untouched by life,
reluctant then relenting
folding away oil infused
parchment skin,
exposing heart and soul
for forgiveness and love
carrion to emotion,
an embrace that reaches
to the outer confines of space,
things would be different,
as he looked to the last pages
already knowing the ending
Kat Candler- Black Metal (Sundance 2013 )
Jason Willis-Catnip: Egress To Oblivion ( Sundance 2013 )
And my 2012 as well
Funnel Face
wool cocoon,
fold hooded head
coiled into room
waiting for
sundowns wisdom
and the choking solace
without resonance loud,
bitter eyes would
shed tears if seen
burning lips,
wishing for a moment
of flesh,
to savor and devour
in own lair
Palace of the Neon Stars
white leather jeans shirt forgotten
crushed joint spark
close to oak tree/
picked up Harley Sprint kicked alive
the virtue of engine noise
as grass gave way to blacktop,
wind swallowed hair flowed out,
riding unicorns to the resting place
of yesterday
time bends/
literate words come into mind
long weaver woven sentences
to use
as he sought her out
princess of diamonds and pearls
her rooms would be richly furnished
ditch the bike/
clatter of steel
engine splutters into silence,
a burden tugged
hooked on his heart,
emotions break was a wild sea
worrying the conscious
diminishing light/
as sun dropped over rooftops
he still searched out the place
The Palace
run down building anointed by graffiti
fractured bricks
rolled shutter windows
snap fingers/
make a wish
saxophone played long drawn notes,
that filtered like nicotine
into his veins
thickening, hardening
flesh pricked cold
darkness calls/
not drunk stumbled over steps,
trash septic festering
litter of abused society,
excrement and needles
vibration of notes
lingered in guts and loins
stage lit/
by pigeon broken holes
and the princess was there
moving sensual in a half light
full link to reality
saxophone to lips
blonde soul hair,
righting a stool
looked over
swaying
an enhancement to his retina
delft blue panties
bare breasts full as a coming moon
nature to his root
he found the princess of his Palace
the reason of future
blueprint of his plans
Under Shapes
i have let go the balloon
so all of montana
can see,
red adventurous not dismal
and shallow,
beyond flatness
and interjection of mountain
spike,
i remember the waitress
she with black flat shoes
that squeak,
luscious hips that waved
not so discretely,
in these moments
pulling collar tighter
with the encroaching cold,
that seemed to affect the
mind,
so that all i could do
in conversation or
thought is waffle
