The Curling Things

  It is the curling things that encourage me to move the perfect symmetry the fibonacci of chaos that licks me on the inside and spurs me into action It is the hardness that looks soft and the elongation of rational thought I am bound to the unravelling of design I am clung and sticking

the narcissist

my face is moving crystal, my fearless mind reflects the blinking, starry eyes of night fish tunnelling toward me, hearts beating faster than fins I throw this crown back my wicked hysteria, my vision of flipping pages and baubles, trumpets and bubbles and cheeky animals in fabric and shoes come my way baring smiles roses

All That Is

  in my tiny mind my pin star brain my little bitty light box my carbon printing machine here on this grassy knoll I know my pencil is dirt and YES I am only bones and orange polka dots but I see an EPIPHANY There is no good or evil, left or right, up or down,