saturday & sunday diptychs
Began working on another visual journal. Let's call this one little and the other one big. For clarity's sake. I have no plan for little. He's taking shape in my mind as I build him.
Okay, let's eat some poetry shall we? So infatuated with the quirky and strange!
Ink runs from the corners of my mouth.
There is no happiness like mine.
I have been eating poetry.
The librarian does not believe what she sees.
Her eyes are sad
and she walks with her hands in her dress.
The poems are gone.
The light is dim.
The dogs are on the basement stairs and coming up.
Their eyeballs roll,
their blond legs burn like brush.
The poor librarian begins to stamp her feet and weep.
She does not understand.
When I get on my knees and lick her hand,
I am a new man,
I snarl at her and bark,
I romp with joy in the bookish dark.
by Mark Strand