Poetry doesn’t do anything anymore….is the first thing I thought of writing when I started this artist statement.I had forgotten that some people will not be familiar with poetry in the real world. It’s everywhere, in everything and constant if you know how to watch for it.
I have been an artist and a poet and mostly neither at the same time. I have fixed that problem while in grad school in the MFA program for Printmaking. Occasionally I will post one or the other. I may post photos, or a print or painting. I may post a stream of consciousness poem or one of my iPad corrected works. It will always be poetry because poetry is alive in all of it. I cannot guarantee it will never suck.
There’s jerk in the sound if final game smokejumper haloes remember
We have never been to the Utah dime stores.
I walk wield a window wool scarf
It sheds theism like a duck sheds water.
There can bend now trees out of the agenda forest,
They will clamor for the disk and the thumb drive brain song
But they will never find us alone and harmed again.
We was armed before they alarmed us to their charms.
I bring shotguns to make peace with the element
I bring south funds to make peace for the enemy,
I bring shotgun medicine for the enemy to be cured on.
Plus sized raven eyes spied me from high above
the world clocks face.
i was cutting time in tune to rhyme crimes
left in the dirt of my underused youth.
i curled an ode into a fist and hurt myself
getting out of bed.
three commas harassed my prom queen dream scheme
until the seams split, revealing gleaming metal teeth.
grammar will always fuck you, that way.