Sunday, February 26, 2012


("It's the same with men as with horses and dogs, nothing wants to die,...")****



There he was, on the corner, training for christ
and here I am, the son of music
finding myself at home
in the lower day
an anachronism of magnetic north
an arc where matter inherited converts itself to spirit
where admission to the forest of the orthodoxy
crosses into the circus of celibates
this life, plastic, transatlantic,
this life, interrupted, diametric,
this life

this life

Ithaca 651

the art of collapsing
is a subject of destination
an electric influence based
in restriction
and procrastination
a development of converse accommodation
imperfect in motion with a past history
of occasional acquaintance
and degrees of circular navigation.

with velocity in hand
and imperfect experience
we arrive and in arriving,

choose this domain

Ithaca 652

Space is a question of pharmaceuticals
a prepared rest compressing existence
into a dwarf stratagem a
stone a point in the darkness a
destination of hope
Everything we received is gone at
moment of our decision
we, the men of indifferent hats
hands in trousers
pocket-less, moving on irritated pavement
feet allowed to ascend in preparation
stealing the host and
falling into nonexistence

**** Tom Waits

1 comment:

Rod MacGregor said...

Great drawings. I like how your people always appear to be a bit insane.