Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

Oh no, Dadio--they weren't into such carnal desires back then, surely?

[Life's not cleanly organized, and so I find myself happily in love with a different-gender partner and generally appalled and opposed to the military-industrial complex of my nation...and utterly proud of my sisters and brothers whose lives have been opposed who now can die in my name, if they so ...

So many theories: dreams are, dreams are not. And someone said it wisely once that dreams are neither answer nor are remedies but—hallelu—equations being solved. But then we wake before this life's resolved and daydream chaos through solemnities from artist dawns to sunburned light that gleams in ev...

Perhaps it's holy modesty that hides the loam that's home to roots beneath the toads— perhaps the veil of grass is like a bride's attempt at privacy before the roads of someone else's privilege dominate, if even lovingly, what happens next. And why should dirt and earth impersonate the lives they ho...

But I'll be wiser when I'm older, right? I won't be such a pansy when I've learned and loved and kissed my children's heads good-night while Terror funds their deaths with taxes, earned and stolen from my bank account by thieves who'd call themselves my neighbors with their needs for roads and schoo...

a written life in creative thoughts
perfectly historically accurate
within poetic license
like the gospel
of a holy
being

I wait for dandelions till they’re white-- I trust them more than stars or candles when I wish for something utterly unreal. Relentlessly I search for perfect spheres of lace and latticework-- then pinch the stem- base, cutting cleanly-- lifting light until I’m kissing close and close my eyes: it fl...

I can't run with scissors, I can't disobey.
It's certain I've flossed at the end of the day.
My week's eighty hours, I can't call in sick.
I'd never admit if my boss were a prick.
But sometimes the priest I am has to rebel:
I preach God's a Love that burns no one in hell.

Really is beautiful; makes me miss my deckchair partner (she followed a job and I don't get to follow her for another week).

Also makes me miss fireflies. Hope to see them again soon.

Only man would consider a sheep in wolf's clothing or visa versa. Animals live in the moment just doing their being...no guile or cunning beyond what is natural to their species. The antfarm only works because we’re ants. We see ourselves in industry. We know ourselves within community. We go about...

Were I to be a terrorist, my cause might simply be for quiet, silence, peace— not stillness of the spirit, but release from reckless noise; I’d fight to find the pause that presses shriek-screams to the ground, that gnaws the roots annoyance needs to pay its lease on loudness. Vigilante, not police:...

You’re never happy. Never— never— no— and now I’ve noticed how obnoxious I become when, nauseated, I ignore your misery with hope you’ll smile again with something more than the acidic grin that spins your soul’s superlatives of hell. I’m sorry, but you’re never happy. See, I’m pretty sure you never...

Los ojos oros.
¿Dos fosos o vos?—preguntamos nosotros.
Los osos: “No nos somos”.

Beautiful, solid, sour oranges on the streets of Athens;
small, firm, smooth olives on the Palatine Hill in Rome;
backyard sweet and reachable apples on Catoctin Mountain--
only one was palatable. I agree with you.

Thanks Joel...some of my friends think this poem is too dark...but i smile because that is what BLACK is..... :) when will we catch on that darkness/lightness is not a moral issue (even if the privilege differentials we try to assign are)? such a great poem. Thanks for "darkening" my skies--I sleep...