Viewing entries in
voice

sluice

i was born to chill you

lastingly

you’re good at this,

i think post-rinse

my own cold surge turns me tepid

as your nudity swirls for eternity—

contact quick lingers in my membrane;

the filth i came for—all parts out of my purview

the charge is long and clear at last

black suds

deep scents

mingling with your sliced hair

thick but fair unwanted parts

i am nothing but a puddle

set to drain


Ode to Brows

Detract ye from

Uneven tone

Oft picked oversized

Pores

Millenia of thin menthols

Amidst scores of

Hormonal pigmentation

Challenges

As you hug closer to

Obscure

Ink puddles under

Frequently squinting oceans

Of baby blue

Now arched, tinted, shapely

Dramatized, contained

Even when the forehead is paid

Not to move,

You’re emphasizing what the

Rest of the bitch

Face cannot do

a supermarket in taipei

i love eating white girl salads with wooden chopsticks dug from the back of my cutlery drawer

there was an asian woman consulting romaine hearts this evening (i didn’t need any; had halfa heart waiting at home [capers, black olives, questionable carrots, cumin and lime dressing on the side])

she fretted as she compared squatted tossed in turn for as long as it took me to turn my ear screeching cart round to debate why some apples cost more

then i remembered

i couldn’t read chinese


only the small four digit code stickers still familiar;

my high school job punching these aligned with scales, streaming back like the icy blast of the parking lot automatic door opening opening more than closing

cuz it was always christmas in america

and these were rich people

who the fuck still wants fruit in their stocking?—ask if the crab meat is real and quit moaning about what kind of plum i presumed


behave


i wanted to speak chinese

so we could become lovers

lost forever

each armed with one chopstick

poking produce

pinching sense

making small brown spots

monumental in our choosing

weighing centers against the wilt

calculating limp, limbs rooted into each

akimbo is japanese is it not?

and the fuji apples are from where?

the american imports last the least

i’ll take you on the bus to the bourgeoisie

24 hour joint

with stinky cheese


climb in my sheets

leave the spoiling for tomorrow


contained

if only the pink and white translucency wrapped around your soft hands held me instead

if i were bluish green would my feeding off dirt and sunshine concern you gently

if only my hands and feet were soft enough to play along—i can be inviting


if i were rooted grey and thick would my gravity disobey shadows locked in unnecessary skull

if only i could let my body be with you in dayspring unexpectedly

if only i could shake my mind’s nests free before seven a.m. nightmares


if i were to allow my morning mouth to loosen around sounds of insecurity and hope

would the burning scent i initiate instead be so damn enticing


Capsized or Captivating?

La Bateau by Matisse was cut out of gouache colored paper in 1953.

Cutting into color reminds me of the sculptor's direct carving.

La Bateau by Matisse was hung upside down in the MoMa in 1961.

Seek the strongest color effect possible... the content is of no importance.

La Bateau by Matisse had remained in this way for 47 days—even his son hadn’t caught on.

There are always flowers for those who want to see them.

La Bateau by Matisse had been viewed by 116,000 visitors during this time.

Would not it be best to leave room to mystery?

La Bateau by Matisse was viewed three times by a stockbroker, Genevieve Habert.

What I dream of is an art of balance, of purity and serenity, devoid of troubling or depressing subject matter, an art which could be for every mental worker, for the businessman as well as the man of letters, for example, a soothing, calming influence on the mind, something like a good armchair which provides relaxation from physical fatigue.

La Bateau by Matisse had produced a “‘stabbing certainty’” of an inversion, which propelled Habert that third evening to notify security, journalists, and at last the appalled curators.

The essential thing is to spring forth, to express the bolt of lightning one senses upon contact with a thing. The function of the artist is not to translate an observation but to express the shock of the object on his nature; the shock, with the original reaction.

La Bateau by Matisse had been elsewhere displayed correctly, but also hung this way before—recorded older framing holes.

Exactitude is not truth.

La Bateau by Matisse is a paper-cut of a blue boat and its reflection beneath.

When I put a green, it it not grass. When I put a blue, it is not the sky.

La Bateau by Matisse is still housed in the MoMa; it's forever housed in the 1961 headlines as well.

Impressionism is the newspaper of the soul.

La Bateau by Matisse was created near the end of his life.

I wouldn't mind turning into a vermilion goldfish.

 

 

 

 

N.B. italicized lines are quotes from Matisse; further facts have been gathered from Wikipediaartsy.net, and the New York Daily News.