wasted efforts

dip 2, don’t call back somewhere, i’ve got a shack to lie in: there’s a sofa sleeping behind me I woke up. drunk dial better written than done: in my head, it’s a gun that determines shicksal – always when I’m 88. i couldn’t stay straight so went down and gave it try; that dentist … Read morewasted efforts

Italian Easter

buried under winters frost, dreams gone and dreams lost. I imagined her strong, black hair, green eyes; I imagined she would sing great lullabies; I imagined she was quick, a sharp tongued wit; I imagined her paintings, her poems and her dance; I imagined we would live in France. she was to be the best … Read moreItalian Easter

Clues

“At the bottom of this bottle,” i said, tilting it full throttle down my throat, down my throat – a whisper in my ear begging to choke; to find release in anesthetic, let the time pass mechanic each swish of the second hand; oh how that run was grand.

Facets of Moral Evil

New Interrogation Details Emerge
I can not cry for a Humanity that would hold its own in bondage, servitude, in Animal Cruelty. These are not my countrymen, not children of my Mother’s land. I am not the son of Love, no – I desire their suffering, their anguish. And these, they are without human conscience – a dog knows when to hold its tail between its legs; These men and women are the devil we have been told of in churches and from Presidential Pulpits.
I understand those who would defend a new president, one who broke the boundaries of color – but I also remember a King who said, “An injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere.” This is none other than a glaring injustice, and it’s continued existence, left to fester and rot, will destroy the body of our nation as a cancer riddles the body of its victim.

Read moreFacets of Moral Evil

Easter

easter. Osterfest in german. East. it never occurred to me – the east; the sun came from there today. I wonder if love is on the way – storms without rain or wind; this warm italian wind does not come from the east. But my curiosity stops somewhere geographically determined like the hare disappears into … Read moreEaster

Lost Voice

i’ve nothing to write; blank, purposeless – i’ve lost my voice. i’ve a confusion of images screening around upon this very desk: the boy, stumbling upon some white powder in a trick oil can – he inhales deeply from the bag when the old man comes home, it’s the usual “Fucking Cocksucker – where are … Read moreLost Voice

Davis

she’ll be 70 this year: in concrete and arithmetic. we need a porch, some metal for the roof [hail storms that could kill] garden is 4 years in the wings; i’m not on good time – 9 months until Dec. but something’ll feed the ducks this winter – something always does. How do you get … Read moreDavis

Soapbox Artist: collecting art & literature of the worst kind