Monday, November 14, 2011

Crisis of Death

a skull
with a snake
running through

Sunday, November 13, 2011


A goat bleats
and a man says you can only make art
when you suffer

But we know this
is not at all true
painting our fences
into the ground

Then looking up
at the sky
I see a falling child

My pants are torn
like a cloud
in the winter sky
that is forever continuous

We go home and cry
and itch a little too
to get out

But light creeps in
the corners are filled
with it. Up 'til now
when we both leave

This is the mirror
and both of us
are in it

Looking up for the falling
who fall to us
from above
like those children

They pull the cord
on the last light bulb
in the sky