17 3 2
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The pines that line Alden Highway are stained blue today, four days after my brother's soft flesh folded into its last embrace. The two things torn from the speeding car; his skinny body and six gallons of…
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1301
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Damion was not this skin and bones saint. He was not the ascetic he carved himself out to be. He did not exist in a vacuum consuming and being consumed by only art. He was not all these things. And he was not always so painfully sober.
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105432
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He painted a woman on them, identical to the woman that kneeled by his bed.
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42132
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I love my new apartment: bay windows, crown moldings, smooth porcelain doorknobs. The only thing I don’t like is the color of my bedroom walls, a garish mustard yellow.
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9761
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I trip on the dimples, pimples, /
divots camouflaged in the sand
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44642
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I wish I could paint. I would show you high clays walls, bleached and blasted faces once a rich yellow but muted now by the years, standing silent in the night underneath dream-form shadows floating across the azure sea that stretches overhead. Cracks like junkies…
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111743
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I still see Big Mama leaning over her garden to pick a zinnia to put in her still life. Her old pink slip, hanging diagonally a foot under her hiked up, ragged, stained dress, half covered by her paint smock, which matched her white, faux fur, bedroom sli
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