Event Horizon

Iredale

We bluff the light, together, loving within the slow pull of measurable movement

 Creating fragile horizons out of uncertain wavelengths

 

 

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Opal Pool

Photo by Elan Mudrow
Photo by Elan Mudrow

The roads are so young

Where old mines have been forgotten.

They stumble through the forest

Uneven, full of ruts, washouts.

Men have come with tools

Left them, returned with better.

Implements that shine silver

Rust resistant, until rains never stop.

The goal is to cut clean, to sprinkle

Shaped earth, decorating the contours

Of river, pools, and growth.

We, the ones, who yell along trails

Echoing off ancient volcanic movements

Slip five dollars

Inside an envelope–

license plate number–

Scrawled in human–

Bleached white envelopes–

Connect with the eerie reflection

Of how we carve, paint, sing, make roads–

And yes, the art of the outhouse.

The parking lot must be made bigger

Single Use Cup

Bristol
Bristol

The art that surrounds me are images of images already in place

I am the one who is expected to make a decision

through them, these paintings, figurines….for they are

Copied onto permanent canvas, drawn into form, molded into judgement

Named and named again, endless titles

Serving anger and compassion, attack and defense, pride and prejudice

Stirring the swirling palette of mash ups, in the land of dances

Making me dance, full of fervor, entwined in embedded memories

For my head is a twirling history of black and white atomic bombs

John’s bloody head full of conspiracy theories and Jacqueline’s pink hat

Reagan’s red blushed cheeks and a dusty New York.

This art is frozen into me, stars stuck in my stomach, aching

I vomit up all the dried acrylics produced by the painters.

And there is enough there to make me want to love it all like a pro

For I must believe I am a lover

Even as I dry heave belief in amounts no cloud could contain

Sitting with my head near the toilet

The sound of my empty throat echoes off porcelain

Hoping the sunrise will sober me up

Yet, I will vote for you, my love. Take me.

I drink you while you’re hot, when the paint is still wet in your hands

To soothe my stomach, then toss

The single use cup where your past memories

Never decompose