Emulsify
painting over unsavory batches
of red saves the soul for another
work where red lives
whether an elevator to limbo
or dirt to dust we get sifted back
and incorporated when the light drifts
my thoughts will be forgotten words
eaten by soil and if you die you’ll be the first
snowfall of the season the whole of you
will blanket me with happy melting
There there (Darling)
thats that
this is this
whats what
what is that?
…………
are
are
are
are
are
are
are
are
are and you
think about your
words long enough and they
won’t make sense at all
you know
…………
and billboards
are hotels
are loop
holes of debt and
for convenience
they win
…………
shy city
everything is paved
the ground
the walls
the underground
the walls underground
and sometimes the sky
is paved
in chicago
This installation is much less permanent, more of an experiment with light, and one word poems of my own.
This slideshow requires JavaScript.
Read about him when you have the time. He produced an entire book of one word poems under the idea of minimal poetry. He would change a letter, or add a letter to words, to create an effect that makes the reader think about the word in a different way. Here’s one of his
“lighght”
It seems odd to me that we read a blog from the top down,
shouldn’t it be the other way around?
Ed Sanders. Performing “The Cutting Prow: for Henri Matisse.” An early inspiration and fascination of mine. Interest in the way that a poem can function outside of the page. Mixed mediums.
This clip is from the 1982 documentary film “Poetry in Motion.” I highly suggest renting this out, its delightful.
Blogging, there are so many possibilities. I’ve decided, that this blog can serve other purposes. A medium for which to share my own words, my inspirations, and showcase the work of other word artists. Look forward to some new and interesting content.
So here is the text, the poem.
American Spirits
poison for profit
they smoke it
behind guilty eyes
in the white house
now cased in wrinkled bags by
wrinkled hands a
cause for caution
expense on a mountain
that sits in your living room
smoking the last of that Jackson that
took you two hours to make
waiting tables for snakes
who built the mountain in the first
place
we have lost the American Spirit
all the free shit
from Marlboro at vintage price
we have lost the American Spirit
our forefathers once loved
the ash at the tip
of our nostalgic cigarette
the man becomes mysterious
like the morning smoke
fleets the tip of
his post breakfast stick
we need new reasons
to pause rewind decline
by danger
and ashtrays assume a rest
arrest for fingers are noticed
the poets they hide
in basements and bedrooms reside
the world must reside with its
commodities
and in the end
fuck them
for false freedom
Americans they move
to the Netherlands
away from harem and hipocrasy she
once said
“that everything is more desirable
once its dead”
click for big.
This slideshow requires JavaScript.
After far far too many adhesive issues, its up, or down, depending on the way you look at it. Go to the Amtrak stop right behind the gandy dancer on depot st. There it is, under stairs, sitting. Hopes are running that come daylight it will still exist, and we get photos. Until then, just go there.
this is how you get there from your house.
until then,
p.s.b.s
