Category: ai art
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Down on Fifth
forever the beggar, king of no kingdombut the dusty lanes of nowhere, he smilesfor his dimes, a blessing for a dollar;at midday, or when whim strikes him, oronce the coins add up to a little something,he slips down to the huck’s on carpenterstreet for a magnum of malt (and a pintof brandy, E-n-J, on a…
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Boomer Granddame
sad-eyed she says he needs her, but she can’tstand him. he’s a habit she’s had fortyyears now: how’s she supposed to quit him now;she mourns her wasted youth, though praises godover the seven fine children they raisedtogether—though one is dead and a daughteris in prison for life—she wonders aloudto that same god where everything went…
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Roadtrip
it was time for a change of scenery;too long we’d danced in stagnant rain on prairiesand wanted for some elevation, orperhaps bigger sky or broader blue scapes.undecided, we headed west in the carplaying novels on CD as the milesslipped by, the asphalt river racing pastbeneath worn tires and we watching roadsidesfor occasional animals, hawks byday,…
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Sanitarium
she asks if I suffer hallucinations.no, I suffer them nothing; I do, though,enjoy them much more than most other folks—I mean, I like my imaginaryfriends better than my real ones, not that Ienjoy hallucinations more than otherfolks enjoy hallucinations; I mean,your average jo either gets caught up ingames of denial and confusion between,or among, realities—how…
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how silly it all was
later that night, after that incidentwith the nudists and the police, I wasgetting closer to sober and you broughtover a bottle for us to share, though itwas only a pint, and you had been drunkhours before I started on the whiskey . . .we toasted the cops and nudists and madejokes about protests and how…
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Our Lady of Needless Tears
she weeps night after night into cupped handsbecause she never learned how to pray, hersadness and misery have an authorwhose name she refuses to think or speakswearing “I’ve moved on” or “I’m in a new,a different, chapter of my life now.” Thismorning she swore to her well-meaning sistershe would start mass next week, but she’s…
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Edward and Lisel
today I’m stealing poems from LiselMueller’s Alive Together. my copyriddled with small book marks: six neon greensticky flags and one hunter orange, onereceipt dated 2004 from Barnes& Noble, and two rogue Yahtzee score sheets,completed without dates. Thirteen pagesare dog-eared. Rare as it is, I have scrawledmarginalia alongside several poems.I recall now that it was Lisel…
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Of Death She Stays Aloof
she always was an odd child, fascinatedwith death and dying despite her shelteredlife early on and into adulthood;never lost a friend or close familymember to it, not even so much, orlittle, as a pet goldfish; she had nouse for dead things, things she said were merelydiscarded clothes, the truth of life beingsomething merely disguised by…
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Satori Zhatahz
got this livin-in-the-now thing goingon now, he says, though the haunt in his eyesbelies the now; somewhere on the road tosatori we met at a bright crossroadsof seeking, which is really something forparallel paths. we sat to center andfollow our breath — he his way, and me mine. my breath moving outward, I trail behindto…
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Breakdown
you’ve lost all hope of reason, she says. her hypodermic is that for which I came. what the fuck ever happened to refuges, to the sanitaria of yesteryear? I need a peaceful stroll upon a lawn unwired and without the green threat of work, the soft voice of a sympathetic soul. my dreams are meaningless…
Fringemonkey Scribbles 