In Picasso's Studio (Insp. by Gertrude Stein & Alice B. Toklas)

Less modern.
Something painful and beautiful there
and oppressive but imprisoned
Pale and at once bright
Unfinished and probably not finishable.
The queer danger of color;
Of art mixed with sexuality.

Unnatural.
We strive to be at odds with nature.
Do I want to unlearn humanity?
Nature is frightening and society keeps me safe.
Desire drives us to face nature;
It slaps our face for insolence
So some of us are not natural.

More modern; Less natural.
Hi tech/ lo brow, mass produced, cheap and plastic
Socially policed, censored, opaque and oblique
Outrage at the unnatural freedom of others
We are not like this and prefer the company of the
Socially inspired, in your face, offensive and obtuse, the
Intuitive, Intelligent, Individual, Immoral and Ingenious.

More modern; More natural.

God's House

One lone building covered in gold
Surrounded on all sides by ramshackle houses,
Thin streets, and densely crowded markets.
Children crowd around us like water on a sinking ship.
They beg for candy and money. I can't breathe.

We pass out cigarettes to men in exchange for
Half-hearted allegiance, shifty, toothless smiles and derisive mistrust.
Some cheer while others stand far back and glare as they whisper
Purple fingered people stand proud; They march in the streets.
We march in their streets and I wonder how long before we remove the U.I.A.

We remove an unexploded RPG from a family's doorway.
Men stand armed and nervous within earshot on the perimeter
Children play with goats and they treat us to tea.
Shokran Jazeelan. I give thanks and drink.
The sweetest tea I've ever had.

Contra

Hate me if you want.
Get mad that I am different
That I came from some other place
That I look and sound separate from you.

Shake the bars of your mind
Or stomp your feet and yell
But don't expect me to leave
Or even shut my mouth.

I would like nothing better than
To use your words against you
To make you upset and confused
and look like a fool in front of whoever is handy.

Perhaps that is too much to ask.
If nothing else, I am contra.
I stand to juxtapose you and let others know
You're not as smart as you think you are.

I don't need you or anyone else to agree with me.
I don't need to be right all the time.
On the contrary, there is rarely only one answer
And I want you to admit it.

The New Colossus

Was that a lie? Do people still believe that?
If slanted politics make my home unsafe for me, is there anywhere I can go?
Is there no place on the surface of existence where I can earn a living
and not be held responsible for sins of generations past?
If I agree to abide by the golden rule and obey basic laws, why am I not welcome?
If I pay my way and adopt your culture, your customs, your language, what then?
If I walk here for days through the desert just to shop in your stores and clean your plates,
Will you not let me stay?

Lazy Men Work Twice as Hard

That spilled lobster bisque
The dogs licked off the gray tile
Then dried on the couch

Shell Shock

I know how I am and how it must seem
Like I'm rushing around and trying to leave
But when my things are put away
And I visit every room everyday
Smiling in the dark when I'm alone
I know I'm back and feel at home.

Ode to New Pens

No villains on Earth
Or demons in Hell
Are more frustrating
Or more deceitful
Than the misfortune of trusting
The dull blades of dead pens.
The muse's words are lost to the ether
While my pen scrapes the paper.

In futility.

After years of silent wishing
While undeservedly stopping
In art shops and travel stops
Briefly allowing my eyes to settle
Like dust in a mausoleum
Onto the quills and inks
And parchment and fountain pens
To use and make my words beautiful.

Haiku Kung-Fu

In a Bored Room

Back in my art school

Never thought I’d be using

Words like synergy

Prosthesis

Chicken wings on dog

Wheels of polymer and steel

Now flying down streets

New American Dream

Smack your girl around

Get arrested and famous

Do drugs and retire

4:15

Nervously tapping

Legs crossed tightly toward restroom

HOW LONG IS THIS CLASS?

Tutoring a 7 year old

Teaching kids English

Was not the plan but now it’s

Strangely fulfilling

Universal Potential (Insp. by H.P. Lovecraft)

Potentially wrong.

Potentially bad…

Potential energies move grains of sand into

Odd patterns following waves on graphene

The beach is not a solar system or

Even a galaxy. The grains are not planets but

Subatomic particles appearing to be

Malleable. Laws can bend. Things can change.

Humanity is distracted; this does not change.

By movie-stars in tabloids and fashion shows,
By cheesy day-time television and on-demand
Pornography. Potentially wrong. Potentially bad...

Infighting between religions

Hate crimes between brothers

Wars between neighbors

No one trusts their doctors

Mothers could kill their children

Republics can rise and crumble
Planets revolve unaware and
Over the brink man shall tumble

Returning to the dust through which we trudge
The unceremonious death of an egotistical species
On a tiny rock, on an outer arm of a back-wood galaxy
Man dies, Earth dies, stars blink out and God never existed

Vast millions of planets continue revolving continue revolving
Einstein knows matter is not created or destroyed.
The cosmos are unchanged but no living being witnesses
The next big bang which perpetuates existence

The spark of life ignites in any dry forest over time
Energy cycles and begins where it once ended
Kinetic energy becomes potential
Potentially wrong. Potentially Bad.

Melting Metaphors (Insp. by Wallace Stevens)

Get down to the marrow of it.

Truth is not prescribed for pain;

This uncertain light shakes the central of my being.

In dark rooms of silence when I try to rest,

I am soothed only by you, my gentle muse,

Imposing onto me the burden of discovery.

It is possible, possible, possible. You must

Still your incessant lyre and allow me

Moments of peace. As in any Supreme Fiction

Peace is not the end but the beginning.

Auroras under the trees in autumn;

Feeling half dead, deserted on a beach.

It is white. The single bird, the obscure moon;

Lost and all at once in direct position

Between primary noon and the A B C of being.

There were ghosts that spoke the feeling,

Which was what they lacked.

Poesis, Poesis, The palm at the end of the mind.

Stripping this tree to stoke the fire fangled

Furnace in the early March wind

Of sleep’s faded paper mâché…

Morning Thoughts

I am an insect pinned to the cork board of my bed.
My eyes barely flicker as the entire house vibrates from the
Motorcycle dealership across the street apparently having a sale.
The warm Saturday morning gives my neighbor the chance to be a
Rock star again and he beats furiously on his drum set while some
Mysterious friend plays along on a distorted bass guitar.
This is how the weekend will begin. Etherized on my bed,
Hungover, and way too enthusiastic about being home alone.

This is the worst part. The last ten pounds.
They cling to my waist for their putrid lives and
No number of skipped meals loosens their grip of me.
I go jogging twice a week. Push ups every morning.
I eat so little, I get dizzy. I'm scared to drive.
When I eat I feel so guilty. I'm just making it worse.
Yesterday, I had an apple and a tomato sandwich.
Today I'll leave off the mustard.

Winter Collision

Christmas means shopping
Rushing home to cook dinner
The garage is full

Lifting Belly (Insp. by Gertrude Stein)

Today I learned about a woman.
I read about a poet, long dead now
but alive and living in a person I know.
This poet loved language and wrote well
in a style I preferred not to read.
A man I respect loved this poet and he wrote about her
in a style more my own which spoke to me
and sounded vaguely like a girl I once knew; a poet herself
that once told me to write as well.
This girl I knew: she gave me the pot and this man: the seed.
I supplied the soil and the world: the water.
My work blooms now and I think of that girl from my past.
Were you someone else? Were you Gertrude? Was I earnest?

Beautiful. Beautiful. Beautiful. Beautiful.
No, I was always Hemingway but you were never Faulkner;
not like I thought.
You may not even be Stein; like I think now.
This is this.
Violently delightful dinner parties
sung to the tune of empty bank accounts.
No, you are not my competition, just the orientation.
But you have always been represented in my mind.
Ever since you worked to carry drinks in cups.
Drink im ups. Drink hipups.
A news is pressing. You did want me. Say it again.
Strawberry. Oversweet and moist and dangerous.
And if you please. And if they please. And they please.

to Die and Live (Insp. by Ezra Pound)

My love, I've lost you - lost my center
Fighting the world and launching revolutions
And who would've thought that was the lesson?
Nickels and dimes in freefall in the saltmine
Of my wasted indulgent life.

With a bang. Not with a whimper.
When it happens, it will be in a pillar of flame
Trumpeted by the roar of tearing steel
And weeping maidens high on
A tangle of works unfinished.

With Usura (Insp. by Ezra Pound)

She stands and greets the class
With a confident smile
And fiery eye.

Speaking with passion and aplomb
Moving between topics like a bee
From flower to flower.

She cracks esoteric jokes
On fine art and fashion.
Twisting in the heels of expensive shoes

Sipping designer coffee from a lip
Stick stained cup.
Pause. Sip.

She finishes with a quote from Pound:
"...With usura the line grows thick"
Concluded. Smiled. Sat.

No one applauded.

Charcoal Metro Station (Insp. by Ezra Pound)

Give it up. Give it here.
Aren't there as many of us?
Aren't we equal?
Look upon us as outsiders
If you like to condescend;
We are the minority.

I am smart and articulate
Insightful and amusing.
I am a hero and a scientist
Useless to conquer or understand.
The painting passes from hand to hand;
But I never see it.

School Haikus

Water Planet
Weather charts and rainfall
Patterns spread before the whole class
To see the globe warm

Albedo
The Sun beams light down
The Earth is getting hotter
The Heat gives us life

Hazy
Morning talks about
Evapotranspiration
I'm too high for this

Winter Clothes
Imagination
Better than reality
Where girls are concerned

Hollywood
We own everything
Vertical integration
Try and steal from us

Ideas of Symbolism (Insp. by William Carlos Williams)

No ideas but in things. Say it.
Because the best ideas have no ideas.
This is my idea, something devious and powerful and
When ideas occur, I altar my sense
Of what things are.

This is not a poem.
Ink on paper
not thoughts and emotions not love or guilt
The worm is in our brains and it changes matter
to something that matters

Rose≠Heart≠Love≠Change≠Improvement≠Construction
Pix-elated in a picture too detailed to notice
Plummet from a peak so tall the houses and farms and
cities and countries and continents and oceans are
Just patches.
Of green.
And grey.
And yellow.
And blue.
And white.