James Panera’s review of the exhibition entitled “Riffs and Relations: African American Artists and the European Modernist Tradition” at the Phillips Collection is an interesting read if you like intellectual musings and “disses” by arm chair critics on derivative (blk) art – see comments. Sad to read (but not too surprised) that MAGA land and the …
I hold anger in hand paper shreds bits of this & that get the vacuum suck then toss calamity like tissues & phlegm
Morshawn dreamed himself awake flowers in porcelain toilets & tubs clogged fair warning something was happening
float or kick swim or sit virus has me stuck
If it weren’t for pop-ups, run-away-ascents, I’d be diving instead of speculating fictive rhyme schemes (abababcc).
I’m re-entering Surfacing. Free diving – the extreme sport. Epic poem as metaphor. Really ready to reenter where it began. Flicking away the pretend – afraid to lose consciousness during this ascent. Rhyme scheme ottva rima (abababcc).
Daily shelter-in place break. Home-made mask on my face. A brother approaches from the corner. “Excuse me. I was just wunder-run. How can you do that?” I stooped down to pick up Wally’s poop. Shit is shit & I know bull when I hear it. “I’m no bum, but I was wunder-run…See, I ran out …
My hands are cracking from all this hand washing. Sensitive skin. We’ve been warned. Avoid (novel corona) entry points. Cool water is better. Hot doesn’t kill shit. Aquaphor plugs the cracks. Lanolin & petroleum. Big oil be damned! (divest) Skin is jacked if I resist.
I was hoping for the Ace. Hold on for the hold out. It be-es that way sometimes.
Off duty (Ring) (Buoy)