one day the paint becomes too heavy for the wall
and as it falls
i snarl at the wooden frame window,
going beyond
the being drunk for days on end,
curled flakes green paint
like that of a psychiatric unit
even smelled of it,
my body grey
not creased by laughter,
ceiling fan
juddering illusion blades
imagined tugging away flesh
from my bioluminescent bones,
bareback
once ridden by the sun
penetrated by raw illumination,
walls began to shift
i am to be released
as a lost savage
in a wet city
Tag Archives: drugs
suction into vacuum
stairs cluttered with toys
piled to be removed,
except one
that discreetly coiled
it’s own way down,
suction brush
to that clattering canister,
a sound
disturbing to child and cat,
drowning calls
of the need to suckle
partake in natures feast,
goddess did not yield
flowing locks
size fourteen
barefoot
not pregnant anymore,
prepared her strength
as he in den,
stressed oblique
took their life up his nose
snorting and breathing,
saying he had control,
yet so far from shore
he was unable to wave,
her way
inhaling only air
with bare soul
loaded the car with kids
and left,
leaving vacuum writhing
a headless cobra
on the hall floor
Action Figures by Edith Vonnegut
William S Burroughs – The Junky’s Christmas
sperm fades in eden
inhale crystal alice
staircase fingers touching my back,
rabbit martyr
tick , tock
late in the hole,
wednesday stays naively next to tuesday,
as mound of mouth
makes wanton sounds
oh sweet ace of hearts
burn my face
as at the table
in shame and desperation,
tea irresistible at the moment
with insanity breaking loose
mosaic tiles of words and thoughts
propose a whole new story
closer to the experience,
of what the dormouse knew,
shrunken head
damn liquid
mind implodes,
best to roll on back
tilt the ceiling to see the truth
four thousand stars have brought
fireproof monkey
elastic bound thoughts
contracted as would a boiled egg
overdone,
helios hepped on jazz
found the stroke of sidewalk
blocks of bars and strip joints,
mind breathing everything
eyes registering the glass windows
of long to come
tomorrows,
when her kiss come
buick grille jaws of hell,
elastic could not tighten
anymore flared with worms
and a solitary fly,
noise flushed red of wanton art,
could i be a titan
writhing on that couch
with string hearted blonde
ivory lonely care
without tending priests,
poor dumb altar
with genius of my soul
her and my footsteps
made us kings and queens
of the carnival
and slumberers of the
dreary city doorways
fever on the funship
grampus in my thoughts
vessel resonant to pharaoh’s dance
from a bitches brew,
no mirror
no media
in any sarcasm would find me
i would smoke
i would dance,
old hulk decks creaking
as my silk collar shines,
from cabin to hold
the merriment stretches,
i would distance myself
and not be portrayed
anonymous to all but the
lips and tongue i entwine,
whiskey manufactured in the south
smoky sweet tingle,
it was migration
or mitigation
of many ravenous appetites
bologna sausage and sweet mutton,
so vibrantly lost
room extended that i was hidden
faceless in the extreme,
music of davis found me
wanting more,
gilt frame my hair once neatly combed,
come grampus
tilt on rolling waves,
find me a place
of nonchalant obscurity,
saxophone and drum
the ariel had been lost
it was memory that
dragged me down
into the depths
that would fill my lungs
with salt water,
careful heart placement
extracted blood from veins
i was infused with a rhythm
that could only lead to one conclusion
i was intimate in my body
with all of one species,
more smoke
more mirrors,
hearing snare and guitar
long days vanished
a place found
yet i could not reveal
who i totally
am
Jason Willis-Catnip: Egress To Oblivion ( Sundance 2013 )
Federal Period Style
big old clock,
bore the brunt of time
sat with pendulum sway
in studio corner,
once walnut
chipped, paint fleck, sheen
sometimes linseed rag thrown
at it in temper,
in sight the artist aware
more so now,
stagnation passed,
creations shadow appeared
she was new
very awkward,
found her on the street
in a heap,
short skirt needle holes
behind knees,
worn t-shirt and drunk,
but her face held him
unconventional yet striking,
willing appeared at studio,
clothed or naked
they shared,
she embraced the chill
screens and props,
he absorbed her body,
character, soul, shape and form,
stood still load the palette,
canvas warmed under her gaze
her scent of alcohol diminished
drinking less talking more,
her heart was full
and he unloaded it,
stripping away with a wash of color
her pain and all that she once wanted
forgotten,
skimmed over he saw her now
not as one fallen far
but as a muse,
a rare beauty,
whose looks and words
made realization
that this was not the end
as he fell in love
velvetmedia 