August 27, 2010
It is 3 am and nobody is awake but me and Sylvia Plath. She’s not letting me rest until I pay some debts. I am writing this so I can go back to sleep. Perhaps the most obvious of my artistic ancestors since quitting canvas for 3-D painted wood and poetry is William Blake. He […]
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August 23, 2010
Confederate Blues In Suffolk they say “The prophets baptize their whelps in brackish water” The salt singed stench Rises from swamps Of long tan grasses When we could no longer stand Our own urgent visions We would spin spit, Cursing our unconnected touch We would drink cheap wine By the gray Lynnhaven river And leave […]
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