devil bones

wanted to use my little devil illustration, he inspired this piece😊

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bullshit


an excerpt from my illustrated book of love ❤️ poems, love of the monster 😉 thank you

when I was nineteen, a snake spoke to me

when I was nineteen, a snake spoke to me
hissing he worked into my impressionable ear
slithering onto my lazy tanned skin below the neckline
parallel to my protruding collarbone
where I sometimes rested my hand
to make sure I was still alive back then
pumping, pumping, pumping
his serpentine curves with jovial tongue
flicked like young men’s hands
he admitted to the perfect place
to coil in-between the sunless spot
protect the blood pumper
I imagined him threaded through my flesh
red-eyed, purple-oxide shimmering scales
he’d wait for prey there, my silent confidant
hidden away where only the most intimate of loves
would know him by name
then easily forget, when they left my body
those round muscles would know
know and never tell
all the times I was broken
he is with me now, my silent slitherer
in my mind’s flesh
secrets still dark and deep like a swallowed mouse
or crushed rabbit
I think of him often
though it sometimes seems
everyone is tattooed but me

Snake/Mouse

Snake/Mouse

the dream disciples

Dear God, I’m trying to dream
but I’m going to Hell for my thoughts

grounded hopes I kill
sacrifice them off the ledge of my laptop

chanting, yes plenty
the dream disciples sing out in wet tongues

the roar of their licking fires
do not unnerve them

they believe in faith
I have no faith in believing

anything too hot
reduces me to confessional tears

so I continue slaying my desires
upon the concrete foundation of this place

where I’m conveniently
closer to Hell by thirteen carpeted steps

little diablo

little diablo

drinking in hell

pumping oxygen into shriveled dreams
is this what Faust meant to do
sell his pre-owned soul to the devil
in exchange for impractical objects
now if I were to barter with the devil
I’d trade ‘him’ something shiny and new
a cold case of shimmering champagne
that devil and I would squat on a charred out stump
we’d rest back to back
and have ourselves a fancy drink
a sparkling bubbly chilled to perfection
no stem glasses
coffee mugs – it’s hot down there
while chewing on the nuances of life
and spitting out bygone results
the devil would get high on evaporating ice
I’d giggle from fizz leaping into my nose
we’d sling back a few 

until finally
the devil clears his throat and makes an unusual request

rather than stoking my pre-owned soul
or sucking down a fab case of fine French
‘he’d’ ask one thing –
to forever hear my giggle
I’d smile and whisper gravelly, trying to sound like Demi Moore
Mr. Devil, it you’d like to hear my giggle for all eternity
you must love life in a way
that will melt your horns
fade your alizarin crimson hide to Valentine pink
and break hell apart
into chunks smaller than Red Hots
if you can accomplish this
I’ll giggle for you, Mr. Devil
until my endless tears of joy
fill up that old giant hell hole

little diablo

little diablo

 

O Captain! My Captain!

Dear friends,
Years ago, the giant husband worked for a large wholesale plant distributor. Every summer his company held a barbecue on Calf Island, Long Island Sound in Connecticut. As you are aware, a boat is often required when crossing water. It was during one of these barbecue voyages, I met the most ‘Captainish’ looking Captain I ever laid eyes on. His vessel pulled up to the dock and we party-goers hopped aboard. I asked if he wouldn’t mind my taking his picture. I had to paint this introspective face. His ocean eyes twinkled bright beneath his devil-may-care thick brows, his great silver beard shone white in the sun, and his old sea-dog straw hat reflected the brilliant yellow of his fisherman’s slicker-

The Captain/acrylic

The Captain/acrylic

“O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done,
The ship has weather’d every rack, the prize we sought is won,
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring…”
Walt Whitman penned, “O Captain, my Captain,” a somber yet beautiful poem in homage to Abraham Lincoln. I too admire Abraham Lincoln. Whenever I create a Lincoln portrait, I dress his figure in present-day attire. This makes me feel a bit more connected to Mr. Lincoln-

lincoln full I created this computer image with Adobe Illustrator. Again this was one of my earlier computer efforts so I used the mouse, good old-fashioned hand-eye coordination and a lot of patience…

lincoln closeAfter that barbecue, I never saw the Captain again. I have his stoic, sea-worn painted face to remember him by. As for Abraham Lincoln, I think of him often and wonder what we would have chatted about over tea…