Monday, September 24, 2012


every day she stood in her coloured studio
looking at  the colors coming down
and the plane she couldn't reach
leaving it with the presence of absence

with despair in every unused color
green fading to green then green
black to black then black
and the plane waiting for Van Gogh yellow

seeing the dreams she wanted to paint
she plucked the colors from the air
with the shadows on their enigma
falling to the blue painters flesh

slowly twirling to the eternal cracks and space
towards some slow chamber below
her skin feeling the sensations of  falling pigment
flying to a new colour field

Sunday, September 2, 2012


on a hot summer night in North Beach
where street cars dance with gypsies
to the beat of jazz notes blown
with Kerouac and other misfits
dreaming towards another stream of consciousness
baked on heat and apple pie
approaching poems with reckless abandon
reading hot salvages with blemished eyes
puzzled by the shadows of the dancers
and their confident movements of nothingness
with relentless expressions of beauty
wondering what dream brought me to this place
beat poets at City Lights