Thursday, February 18, 2021
Tuesday, December 12, 2017
Lookin out upon the open pasture
Lacquered shine of yer
I leT ghosT dogs out
To chase childhoods
Because you know
HistorY is epilepsY in suspension
Please put the skin
Quivering red meat
Please slide meat
Backs upon bones
Rustles the after
we go deer lightly
Sunlight icicles drip drop
orange morn sun
Sadness of shapes ruling rubbish
Whose turn to burrow in the hollow with
Groundhog neath a dying oak tree?
Over the country side
Deliverance was not there.
We drink fiery waking blacking.
We drink the black drink.
Sunday, September 10, 2017
These may have been found inside a cracked mason jar upon a rowboat floating abandoned in the Potomac and taking rain to the weary frame.
The spiriTs are the ghosTs that are aT waR with your language. EverYone's personal language.
You shall noT be spared eveN if you suffereD the dire gifT of learning the alphabeT in a coffin.
All works on paper with black ink and oil pastels. All work by Matthew pony payroll bones.
INQUIRIES ARE ENCOURAGED!!