Pupil on a Dream

Pupil on a dream

 
I am a small circle on a circle, a pupil on a dream. I am a pupil on a horse's eye, in a dream and again in art. I am a fractured text, intentionally designed. I myself painted that horse, the horse you painted. The horse he painted. The horse that waits for sleeping beauty to wake. Some days he's a cartoon, some days he's at war, others he is in the safety of myth. I ride the horse each time, his chiseled face carved in Roman statue. I rode him to the Vatican, his black mane, silver hide, like stars blinking, winking in the darkness. We are connected, this horse and its pupil. We know Michelangelo. He is the glint God put in my eye. I saw his dead rider, fallen. The horse alone, standing hopeless in a piece of art. Dried paint on drip cloth, scaffolding a bridge, a rainbow. His painters, still in their youth, always, always catching light, his pupil leading him out, into the space beyond art. Galloping, bucking, playing the cowboy. The cow and boy separated then put back, the cow horse, arena roping tying his legs in time. I never saw Snoop Dogg ride a horse or heard him sing about one either. This horse belonged to a prince, sleeping beauties prince, lost in dreams. I am the dead prince before his death. My spirit returned, to polish the glass case, the chamber where she sleeps. My blood is the artists brush, the song of Dali, the cube of Picasso. My music is my princess and she is awake. I run the track, while my spectators place bets.

No Paraphernalia Needed

No Paraphernalia Needed


With only a couple boxes left on the shelf,
I decided I'd better grab mine
a bowl of hemp oatmeal
to start my day
high the natural way,
no genetically engineered organisms,
chemical herbicides and pesticides,
and never any synthetic preservatives.
No paraphernalia needed,
just empty packet into bowl
add 1/2 cup of water.
Now baby is bouncing
up the right path,
whole grain with a hint of brown sugar,
tasty too.
Endorsed by George Washington himself,
who once said:
"Make the most you can
of the Indian hemp seed
and sow it everywhere."
Thank you Lord
for directing me to Sprouts
and Nature's Path
Hemp Plus.

Pathetic Poetic

Pathetic Poetic

Her arm was broken before they could hear
an infant that never wore a cast,
a sidewalk dumpster bumpster baby,
born in a dadaless wonderland.
She mapped madness and melancholy,
through a pair of John Carpenter sun glasses.

Her nursery was decorated with
Dali psycho schizophrenic illusion,
a distorted holy vision, she drew
along with a key to a golden city.
Her first words, gaga'd
a Sistine Chapel salad super,
hell tickled holy city.

She's the baby that didn't see,
her dietitian forgot to prescribe tea.
She learned her way underwater.
A tile cross on the wall, marked
where it all began, swim skinny sinny bones
seventeen laps by a dog's tongue.

She's a pathetic poetic horror flick,
vanity vanished a foot, off the path,
then back again. Sticks and stabs may slit her abs
but music keeps her breathing.

Her wasteland fed scavengers,
crows asphyxiated her sweet syrup love story.
Now she's sippen slipper juice
alive on the stone, a sequel,
dada come home,
She's a hip-hop baby revival.