After Art's Fragmented Memory

[VII2311]

Dead bird, bare tree.
Skull, ashtray, and gun to head.
White flower, wooden chair.
Empty landscape, color-bled.

6:40 P.M.

[14VII11]

The late afternoon moon is a faded mark
on an already faded watercolor sky

Punta Fuego vs. Tropical Storm Falcon

[24VI11]

I have heard the world speak.
Its voice is the bellowing of the waves.

Ferrous moon

[V11]

Who shot at god and left heaven
bleeding from a rust-colored bullet hole?

My eyes aren't on the road when I'm driving

[V11]

A sky split open by lightning
Unleashes the warm wetness of a nimbus cry
And sends bone-feather birds fleeing into
Grey umbrella-trees for the night

[02V11]

Cells slowed by summer.
Sluggish.
Sedated.
Somnolent.

Sagging flesh, smelling of sweat, stinking in the sun.

Draft

[IV012011]

This is an all-white page, blank and waiting for me and for my words. The cursor blinks. A wavy, green line informs me that my second sentence is ungrammatical. I move back, erase the period after “page,” insert a comma, and change the “B” in “Blank” to “b.” Microsoft Word no longer thinks I am violating the rules of language.

Tweets that belong here

The moon is Willendorfian tonight. Weighed down and made huge by yellow light.

___

Heat speeds up molecules. Why then the lethargy of summer, slow-motion sweat, and the temptation to remain immobile in bed?