All Library locations will be closed Monday, June 19th for the Juneteenth holiday.
real art is dipping myself in paint and throwing myself against the pavement
wow look at that stain
all the feelings away
until you darken the page and there’s nothing left to say.
(darling I miss you
The ink darkens, leeching my energy as I trace an index over the text. A rejection letter from California Institute of the Arts, and best regards. No better than every other art academy who also shelved my portfolio.
The letter lands neatly in the bin. I stalk to my studio.
I will count them all
shards of glass in the mirror
every part of me adds
up to nothing
I’m standing in front of violets
in front of a Renaissance painting
and wondering what do I have
There are people in this room
that don’t deserve to be here.
Exhibit A’s intimate circle
gathers ‘round the VIP computers
designated for those
for lack of any other skill,
to commence their daily whispering war.
It looked a bit like Lila, but it wasn’t Lila. I don’t know why people say that when someone dies they look like they’re sleeping. Her skin was dull grey and colder than ice. Her long body lay limp and heavy on the stainless steel table. Her clothes were dirty and rumpled.
Who dares to enter such a realm?
Escaping with the waking flutter,
Living on bated breath
And translucent promises of
A world all your own;
A world anew.
Laughter chirps through my ears
A forever perfect
In this imperfect world
Sunshine frames the chalk lines
Every colorful streak
A reflection of my friends
A reflection of myself
Thriving in our child-like ways