Her teeth settled in my shoulder; from the corner of my eye, saw my flesh giving way to the teeth. Tired now, I just felt sorry and pensive.
1:53am. Framing photographs for the new gallery show. Drinking Jim Beam, Mike’s Hard Blueberry, and water. Listening to Dion & The Belmonts.
12:46pm. Framing for the new gallery show BLACK PORTRAITS, listening to Jesu, drinking Mike’s Hard Cranberry Lemonade, feeling mostly okay.
My mind is racing.
The progression is natural.
You sweep up broken glass like a janitor, that’s what you do. But when the room is opened again, it gets dirtied again. The room you opened.
The scent of your skin, your neck and scalp, pale gooseflesh rippling across your stomach. Early morning, Cambridge Road, in Audrey Heights.
Two birds perched on a wire up in the night, peck at each other with a faint glow about them. I blink my eyes, now, stare down the street.
Hesitating to enter this room, I swept the corridor slowly, noticing all sounds in the cancer ward become incredible, and difficult to bear.
Your precious hands holding my stubborn face as I sigh. Your precious eyes staring at me, while knowingly, and with sure guilt, I turn away.
6:34pm. Drinking mimosas with Portland artist Lindsay DeArmond, cutting and framing for my new show BLACK PORTRAITS. http://t.co/xbK1QhAB
These were the ways in which it would make sounds, from deep within the skeletal frame of a body it crawled around inside of, in the house.
#PDX - Both of my books are now available at Powell’s Burnside, Powell’s Hawthorne, and Powell’s.com. Thank you, lads. http://t.co/p60qJKDA
1:34am. Sitting in the stairwell, handfuls of prints laying out, organizing for a new gallery exhibit, opens in November. Drinking a Mike’s.