Daily Poetry & Prose

What am I doing with my art? Am I actually creating something beautiful or is it just garbage in garbage out? Am I taking time to create utmost beauty; am I intimately involved with patience and skill? Am I focused yet in the flow in order to make something which is actually profound yet effortless?

Dear God how did I ever forget I've become a painter? I must be unwell call for the horses and the damned street signs I am going to get a can of tobacco and make a run for it. The Levis Strauss company has shuttered the green girls are counting ice cubes I am left on the dust-filled prairie with the sheep and the hogs docile and ferocious unable to speak clearly to the dreams that I had full of fruit punch.

The Ethiopian coffee is dripping then it starts to rush when I move the filter and suddenly it cascades with noise and I am waiting on it to unfill so that I can calmly wipe the plate and then enjoy a cup of strange dissidence.