My daily doodles, scribbles, photos, and paper cuttings . . . . ..I play with the glue, but I promise not to eat it.

Wednesday, March 14, 2012



Kate sang that “Beelzebub is aching in my belly-o,”
    belly-o, serpent spliced ‘bout itself,
    a breathing knot, braided, bunched, snagged, snarled, screwed--round.
‘Round bound guts, uncut, cannot be rebut--
    parasitic granitic paralytic inner critic.

My constant accomplice--it was at the Grand Canyon, gorging,
    gorging, too, in a blue room where I hid;
    scaled coil feasting on mushroom clouds, loud crowds, and burial shrouds.

Shrouded from the inside out, fearful dowd,
     female Cronus, stone in my belly-o; Atlas, my weight inside.
In Kindergarten, hair pinched in pony tails; Crayon garden   
    gardened inside.  Plodded to school, told tales.
In high school, hair in my face, glasses replace the rest of the space.
Spaced out in college.  Self medicate   
     what you cannot otherwise negate.  Close your eyes and spin the gate.

Evan Williams puts it to bed.
Strawberry Hills takes it away.
Mary Jane rocks it asleep.
Bull Frog jumps away.
Now I can play, night and day?

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