No One At All on Sundays

My mind is closed, close, closing

	In a fog



Hatred and anger.



Angry.



I want to take paper and pulp

And smash

	Crash

		slash

			dash

				hash

	with a

			bash and a

			gash



Dash and slash it with



	hard	black		charcoal



	pastel

		Stiff and menacingly

chalky...  					white



A knife, razor sharp, its edge,

	slit and slot and tip and tot



Rip the green paper,

	the white paper,

		the heavy bond paper



Rip rip rip it to shreds, meaningless and mean, hating it and hated

By hard hard anger, rip, rip, rip.



Furious the canvas

	fighting back,

tic tac

		give and take

	the pliable whiteness, threatening with

Emptiness and singular form



With reds I lash back with blacks and oranges

	burning, fiery siennas and…icy cold blues

Blue

Blue

Blue the sky blue the sky... sty in my eye,

	hurting 	pulsing  	tears

Hatred and tears

Sky reddening

With anger and fear and soot and mind and



Sky above

Sky below

Sky as high with clouds and pie



I want to slam and slam I am

I slam the canvas with brush and knife

Just slam it, and shred it and slap it with

	Paint and

Plaster and

		Primer

	and

			and

		and...		pennies!



And render it, I try

	The silly meandering of a feeble mind

		No focus, no connection, no rhythm or rhyme.



And burn it, burn it, burn it...  to hell… burn it to ash and

	hope dwindles like yonder cinders

		like lost springs

			running dry and out the mouth of babes fall

the ash that might rise

And I hear the one huge lie… and a whimper and

	a cry and thus is born

life from death.



I want to toss clay, earth, heavy, heavy earth,

	Sweating, heaving muscles

Tearing

	Ripping

		Pounding heart

	The chest expands as the soul comes alive as the

		Elements yield to the image

	In the earth.



To feel it in my hands, to toss it high

	In the air and

rip it

	Tear it,

		beat it with a my palms or a hammer and

A bat,

	to bludgeon the

Heavy weight

	Into submission and form

Shape

	Raw sheets of red, brown, gray clay,

Pieces flung

	Like dung, as if showered in the very feces of Mother earth,

		From waste to want,

			From worldly refuse to vital sustenance

	Out of the the world's bowels, 	

		creation.

For I want to breathe life into

	my own adam.



Art



It’s a war, it is and I a

Warrior railing

Against it not knowing why,

And

	Thought and

		Meaning and

			Time

And memory and excuses and

The depression and insanity,

	medication, the drugs....

the wanting of liquor and cocaine

	being denied by my mind…

by the reining fear and frustration and the

	Remembered sounds and

	Sweet smells

	Happy times

		Illusions, perhaps but times, times remembered and even

Times forgotten.



Fundamentals come

And go

And wither and sigh

And slowly die



Fundamental religiosity and Christ all mighty hanging on wood with nail…

	bleeding and

dying and

	sighing and

		crying up to god himself, like a baby

	Whining little baby, like a baby

Whining... or perhaps...



And the images and words

	song and sound and touch and feeling all leaving the

foggy mind…

as I twist and I try and

I wriggle and I die,

Die, die die... slowly slowly die... die my tie, red, beet, beet red...

Gulag purple teats….

Spilling black milk,

Squirting putridity and want from the soul

	(you can see it in my eyes).



Closing, squeezing, destroying, suffocating

Thought and memory and

Little gray cells, all bouncing about with

	Joyless neuroses

		Each suffocating on

	Amphetamines and magazines



Nothing comes to mind, any longer and

	Nothing leaves the mind either

It is tight, closed, solid and shriveled like a dried up lemon...

		nothing getting in

			not a drop squeezin' out, bruddah buddah.

	An' dat be da word!  word.



And finally...

	On Sundays I sit in complete

Despair,

Suicidal

	At times… at times suicidal at times.

Times I want to kill,

Times I want to chill

Times I want to spill

		blood,

	times I want to shoot semen from the

Hood of my car.



And times I sit crying,

	only knowing that I'll die

Having been

		No one

				(and nothing)

at all.