stagnanTVowels

fig.087) 40 takes on an awful novel                                                        Alone in the night by the mailbox that I've been sleeping under, I vote for more walls in the happy desert. Marching down the street where my dog will pee forever peaking into every broken window, I find a rifle to blow out every candle I'm struck and I'm scheming, eggplant or primrose, nightshade for tardigrades Nestled in my half eaten screenplay, I'm waiting for someone, to come through the armoire and dance with me, like they mean it Moreover, I'm here in my blanket, painting a hole in the darkness But I can't seem to shake it, this feeling that I'm naked is like a play where I'm lost and not famous In greyness, the days stay away - away away from ever after Once the villains have gone, cause their crimes are all done They buy hou...

untitled (12 step program) graphite on paper, 1995 When I moved to Jardin, all I had was this small pile of cassette tapes and a shoe box full of charcoal and some gummy tubes of oil paint. I was a painter sometimes, even though I came to the city for its weather. I wanted to live by the park and have better access to public transportation but I moved into an apartment on Augusta and nearly drowned during a local heatwave. I usually had a book for drawing or writing in, often on my lap if I was commuting somewhere. When I moved to Garden Point from Stadium Park, all my books came with. Sitting in the backseat of the cab, just me and my books, my paints and a pile of plastic tapes pressed in togather and sweating it out. Rolling by the Round Up, a brown burger stand with flat pop and sour meat, going up Western to turn right onto Parkway.   The apartment that AN and I were splitting is between Knebsly and Crepe. It's a clean 3 story building. My room sits in the back of the...