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.