Orbus

War blessed
these grounds.

Spirit carried
us away in
secrecy.

Sacrificed
children flower
into the universe,
an atom.

Choosing
not to be,
an agnostic
heresy is
invoked.

Flowing
poison
of eggs
laid in
an eye
socket.

fountainhead

watercolor on matte photo paper

As Above

watercolor on 100% cold-pressed cotton block paper

Guatemalan Open Market Massacre

Colored markers on glossy photographic print paper

Withinsight

watercolor on 100% cold-pressed cotton block paper

Litany of Accusations

Lie to me and this whole nation.
You of the former administration.
Used us up for its butter.

Churned us all into a lather
by which the fortunate could shave.

When it comes to that I'd rather
keep my mouth shut than add a voice
to a choir of slaves, on the off chance
that a dry spot will cause a nick or cut.

Then I can pray for an infection.
From the triple bladed gillette slashed
fresh incisions along the rugged jawline
like brand new gills breathing in the inversion
from the trodden downwinders.

So lather up and grab your towels.
Because in the sauna of your karma
all your pores will open up like sores
on the roses of your untended garden.

Where flowers bloom dead in the darkness
because you poisoned the light.

So relax in the steam of your dreams
while you can, because we who feel
you weren't fairly elected will not
go down without a fight.

A war of words that means REASON.
Not for what you use them for TREASON.
But to help us get through the changing of the season.

From the winter of our discontent the ice will thaw
when you've gone up and went, that's all I got to say
to the leaders of today, when your time comes up
best step down, you can keep the change.

Just clear out of town ya hear, we got work to do.
Cleaning up the mess left by the likes of you.
But wait--hold up, what kind of damage are we talking?
There's no curing severed legs that were meant for walking.

No hatching healthy eggs with tainted rainwater.
For our daughter that we bought her by the bottle
with our very bottom dollar, well for all our scholars
we have led her to the slaughter!

Caught up in the fodder of your greed and impatience.
While you lie to me and this whole nation.
Using us up for its butter churning us into a lather
with which the fortunate can shave their tattered beards.

Before the tilted mirror of their sterile bath cells
they can isolate themselves in their own closed circuit hells
and keep clean & groomed for their self-appointed judgment of doom.

So we form a coalition with a provision for sedition
creating the conditions for revision.

What about the rest of us these bastards share a nest with, huh?
Think they'll help us clean up their own mess, well think again
friends, this is the end of an old cycle.

Run for cover. Better get a bicycle. There is no TRYcycle.
It's Do or DIEcycle. Lie to me and you so they can poison the sky
and kill, nice try. Sick sell.

Using us as the customer for their mustard gas masks
while they make the profits to fill their wineflasks.

Well we don't need your precautions, we've regained
our resistance to pathogens, thank your asses very much.
Don't shake my hand. No need to touch.
Just being grateful is enough.

You'll work for us our deepest vaults.
The janitors of broken trust.
Preserving history to show our faults.
You'll be glad to get a fraction of minimum wage.

We thought of letting you stay on a permanent
vacation in Guantanamo Bay but then realized
how inhumane that would be. So between you and me,
you're lucky to be employed per se.

And if you complain about being treated like a leper colony,
well don't blame me. We're the ones who set you free.

Now ending this litany from the collectively used and abused,
I declare and stare defiant at those who stand before us
unreliant and accused.

Nightguard of the Yucatan

android porchia

Discovered that, when uninstalling old software from your head, remember to begin with those most recently installed and work backwards, like a reverse layercake. Don't forget to empty recycle bin. And you're good as new. Only one hundred and thirty five dollars, billed to your electronic web account.

But they'll never get those symantec bits out. Ha ha I'm just kidding. Our lives are nothing like computer systems, that's a myth. Computer systems merely resemble our lives. Our heads. The way we unmake our beds. And never lie down in them twice. It's not the same bed, it's not the same river, it's not the same head.

Not the same bitterness. It's not the same headdress, it's not the same cleverness, it's not the same anything, it's not the same bling bling, it's not the same corruption, it's not the same eruption, it's not the same consideration, it's not the same alliteration, it's not the same expedition and it's not the same cognition.

It's not even the same degree of maintenance that affects the same results or effects. It's not the same anymore. And it can never be the same again. There can never be the same amount of difference. There can never be the same amount of inference. There can never be the same degree of anything.

It can never be the same again for everything. We can never be sane again because there is no constant for sanity. We can delve into sanity further and establish the possibility of fair weather. But the clouds might develop to blot out the sunshine that otherwise pronounced the clear outline of our shadows.

If these are the conditions in sanity, imagine the conditions without. You can't. Because there is no such thing. As sanity. It's all in our heads like a dream. Or a vanity. Like a scheme. That we planned, you see. Only no scheme ever unfurls as planned. We all know that, deadpan.

So what's in a scheme.
Nothing but a flowering idea.
We all know what they say about flowers.
Flowers have no hope for tomorrow.