A thousand words for my lost easel, give or take a handful.

Black and silver, lost in light
lost not lost but stuck at the last couch

and I can barely punctuate the meaning here

For your simple lines, your sliding screws,
the way you hold my thoughts

a million paintings and a million more, as you will surely outlive me
with care to take for not to break
or bend your shape, I love you so.

that's not nearly enough words to express the way I digress
as I try to impress up on the world

high, pregnant or or drugs, or on top of the world

I pause

to roll another cigarette, and take my leave of the keys for a heartbeat,
a dying breath to bring me calm,
where without you I am not as much the artist I would be.

Simply a beard without a face

the fading memory of nine or more skulls left to a bitch who wouldn't have me

so sober so calm so finally in a sanity psychedelic without aid of smoke,
I roll tobacco for another poke.

I don't need drugs, I AM DRUGS.  If you don't believe me suck on this!

Labor day, bah, I wish it were DORIS DAY!

And these I leave for the Daves I know. 

My quivering lips holding death itself as I puff on the drum slowly.

I will not make Jack's mistake, and hold it in anymore.

I will not make Jane's mistake, and squander my reality show.


If I am to be lost in a sea of information, to lower and finally lose my station, let it be with a fuckton a metric fuckton, of text.

for I know what I am capable of.

to string together without punctuation, safe a few drawings and paintings petunias and whales to wonder.

where humanity left behind such grand vases for vinces vines and vices.

As a silent midnights twilight leaves me to my piece, and my mind to pieces.

Where oh where, or are you where I left you my black lover.
Silver's sliver holding a trash bag and a cardboard backing, for watercolor's lovely dance.

my only trustworthy friend, my base my spine my favorite instrument,
greater even than the brushes and paper that fall through your jaws. 

Oh fuck this wordpress and fuck your wordcountless abcess.

Blogger you spite me, for I alone can see what marks my crayons make on a screen.

Where my canvases and papers, my favorite flavors, my color my madness my lover in sadness.

where once I drew a mouse.