Category: Art Attack

I haven’t written a bad poem in weeks. Nor a god one. Ebb and flow, you know. And the day seems to end shorty after lunch. And it’s ink dark before even a hint of evening appetite. It all makes the cocktail hour murky. Which leads to supplemental consumption and mild depression before dessert. And bad poems approximate a sugar buzz.

Dinning Out On Minutiae With a Null Dessert

  I couldn’t recall prior restraint during a free speech discussion come sunrise How the early bird turns as decades fly by and on the tip of one’s tongue sits a traitor a disease carried by a defector of self a sly spy storming the store of previous wares dispatching learned particulars, rerouting individual waypoints.

Tis The Season

A wind shift blew away my playlist humidity damns my mix-tape summer flings just the 
static cling that sparks but fails 
to charge that frayed 
fabric: memory  

To The Door

remains of any Wonder just residual relic haven’t seen it all but witnessed enough but bluff is left the gentle lie of the jury in a hurry to acquit- to set free the time served

What have you done for me lately.

The lack of play of one’s back catalog has always been the blogger’s burden. Stats suggest all but what is fresh is considered stale, if considered at all. My creative flow is just below a buckle of good intentions/ starts gung-ho that creative flow peters out in soft circumventions/ my ruminative woe trumps stimulative go ...

STRANGE THINGS HAPPENING EVERY DAY

I want to write a serious farce, not a farce seriously. I’m looking to have fun saying something interesting with misdirection and subtext..whatever the hell that really is. The wad of the whole idea started with an old poem of mine that is often misunderstood or badly put. Most likely the latter. Have a see. ...

Cross Walk

Opting out is not the opposite of opting in switch simple like a toggle nor boisterous as a mission statement the rank and file is not what I parade against I’m pedestrian in my prejudices to jay-walk the conceits of the hoi polloi dead in the tracks of that Janus divvy equal parts facing continuum ...