FILMMAKER AND MULTI-MEDIA ARTIST
SNACK
Pits protruding just like teeth
from the flesh I had yet to eat.
Sour cherries from a shriveled palm
I oblige and lay in comfort
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Loosened
Loosened by red juices
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Upright, filled with these clanking stones
lapping up cherries whole
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LATE NIGHT
I lie awake within
My tomb of hematite.
My eyes carve out
An alcove in this black rock
With air
Enough to feed
A candle.
And I imagine
Who to invite here
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RUPTURE ABOVE GROUND
Here is a place where
People and things
especially money
Disappear without a trace
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I am not anyone else
On this subway car
Their glory
I cannot reinvent
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I am only
someone experiencing
aneurismic joy!
of relief,
Of re-emergence
from silk spun
membraneous isolation
Drop me off
On a train above ground.
And I will sit emotional
at the small sign of a reverse
in my luck.
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DAY OFF IN DECEMBER
You and I
and our pact of pastoral peace
A floating vision within our minds
Summoned while skipping steps
And catching separate subway lines
Part Time
The ugly orphan
Of the continuous work week
Reached the end of my line
Easy as done
All in sleep
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Telephonic Telepathy
Your voice
Is the voice in my head
And it is telling me
Of the advent
Between today
and sixteen days from now
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Shift-less
A miracle of a calendar
corporeal.
Little doors holding the warmth
of melting chocolate
above a hearth
With little door knobs
For fingers smaller than ours.
It is December
and you will celebrate
In sixteen days
I hope you go ice skating
I imagine it will have snowed
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