Sunday, May 20, 2018

Friday, May 18, 2018

Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da

Molly strips at The Office
in Center City Philly: high-
school drop-out, pot-fiend,
child in second grade, puffed
up from downing lager during
down-time. She told me her
story because Desmond beats
the hell out of her, she needs
a better gig. Health insurance
does not exist for her or the kid,
she lives in fear of Italian Market
ruffians bearing down on little Bradley.
I brought her back to my pad,
fucked her, told her I would gladly
be a father to Bradley if I had
the time, or the money, but I don't.

Wednesday, May 2, 2018

Tuesday, May 1, 2018

Apparition Poem #1488 (French Translation)

magasin d'alcool, linoléum
étage, vin qu'elle a choisi
            était toujours rouge foncé,
            arrière-goût sombre et amer,
            contrairement à son torse nu,
                        qui a dedans
                        tout ce qui a été
manquer terriblement quelqu'un,
à la fois être amoureux, comme
elle coupe les choses parce que
            elle pense qu'elle doit ...
            torture exquise, c'est
            un torse nu différent,
(le mien) c'est incarnadine-

Friday, April 20, 2018

New Jersey Blood

The first bedlam-laden Free School show:
I caught Jeremy doing his madcap routine,
ribbing audience to leave. I didn't understand
then who Jeremy was, where he came from
(South Jersey), & why he worked unconsciously
to stay (& remain) small. The Highwire shows
were too high for his strident, unsorted softness.
Abandoned inhibitions rose up to high ceilings;
New Jersey squirmed, itchy for its children;
Jeremy slunk back, wine in hand, began snapping
pictures again. As he kneeled to get a special
angle on Mike Land, who stood reading at the
podium, I remembered Avalon as a teenager,
New Jersey at midnight, waves into emptiness.

Thursday, April 19, 2018

White Out

The imperative color
to be brushed in is purple,
I tell her, over canvas/kisses,
green like Ingres (Odalisques
over again, ours), so that I
might take the weight of
white out, spherical wrinkle-
coated burdens, lay them down
(whitely) in a big blast on
a cul-de-sac hieroglyph'd
surface of yours, which stretches
with melted glass, coated/slick
over the concupiscent canvas,
enacts a vague sun rising/disappearing
on a vulval horizon, yes all this
just to see you open your
mouth, humbled to be used
this way (I mean when it
happens you bow to it), then I leave-

(third parties gawk through a black door at us)

Thursday, April 12, 2018

Rising in Scorpio on Doc Player

The pdf Rising in Scorpio, which features Apparition Poems by Adam Fieled and Nine Paintings by Abby Heller-Burnham, is featured here on Doc Player