Listenlight

Also strange, in a recession, to see what gets preserved and what doesn't. 

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.

Hanging Out in 1613

In recessional times, folks, you never know who you might run into. 

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

                        d'ivresse

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-

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.

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)

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.