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

hope

well you know what? I’m fucking tired – you with guns and women and all the coke to keep me awake for 100 years; fuck you – I’m too tired tonight to battle the wisdom of Ape men investing in brawn and muscle long after John Henry has died. No, tonight I will watch out … Read morehope

untitled #312

is it true, that at this morning hour the wives all go to sleep and the children crying pause while their fathers slip into silk? is it true, that when I leave my body you will be there to wrap me in the soft tears of grief before sending me across the water? there are … Read moreuntitled #312

dangle

dangle, with a shame so shallow it redeems a broken soul, lost; if only for the intensity of the statement, stark white against a backdrop of a life lived in black. dream, to an arched nose so delicate, it perches on endangerment; An orchid in the midst of humans radiating my dream back to me.

Soapbox Artist: collecting art & literature of the worst kind