..

The wind stirs around my head and his spirit whispers to me words in another language
But I think I recognize this haunting voice

Because you asked me

I'm gonna write you a love poem.
It's gonna trip you out of your mundane reality. There will be no flowers but .... Birds. If I had a singer's voice, a talent with melody, my poem for you would translate more easily. A love song. I can only hope that your ears, heart, and sensitive body tune in...to mine. I'm gonna write you a love poem. Maybe two, who knows-where this new adventure goes. You fill my spirit with excitement, with hope and for what? I don't exactly know. It's more than just your masculine form that puts me on edge. It goes beyond the seduction in your eyes, your voice. It's probably all that AND the words you would whisper, the love you speak, the probing personal concerns and the understanding you show. Can I hold your hand? Can I touch your heart? You're so very hard to read, a complex book, sometimes open, often hiding ... something ....
I'm already jealous of other women. You make me feel that special.
I'm gonna write you a love poem. Because its the One thing you asked of me. And you seemed so upset. And I shiver when you are close. Although you've made your motives for me pretty clear, I want you to know, I have my own. So...I'm gonna write you a love poem. The ideas are formulating right now. I'm gonna write you a love poem and this is not it.

Southern Nights

Balmy Southern nights. Walking around town in my prettiest dress. Smiling and laughing with the people we meet. Holding hands at the bar. Kissing in a booth and drinking margaritas off the topmost shelf. He tells me I'm the prettiest woman around. I smile and squeeze his thigh. Music live. I get up and dance. He can if he wants to.

Works in Exhibition

•spirit impersonators
•mythic images
•zoomorphic entities
•modern mythic figures
•theater of nature
•found form
•concealed powers
•invisible art
•transformation masks
•visual puns
•inherent contradictions
•coexistence of contraries
•identical opposites
•magical objects
•a world elsewhere
•miniature models
•visual dissection and reassembly
•theater of light
•drawings by psychotics
•souvenirs and fakes
•unworldly sounds
•print sources
•metamorphosis
•surrealist art
•sex
•chance encounters

Sarah not Terror

She is a neon blur moving over the concrete.
Her legs push on and on, while her face takes in the wind.
There is no measure of her speed nor distance, as there is no competition in everywhere.
She is all glitter and giggle.
Dimpled with smile.

Quiet

The mind chatters itself into a delerium
He loves chaos
Security blanket me with your love your arms your legs your passion and all that you do, my love
My balance my binding my soft touch my gentleman
He is the calm pocket in which I place my shaking hands
Love knows better
The One is Trust

Post Void

They really dig the void, the abyss they call it, and lament its coldness with dark sarcasm.
They dig it, it seems all their mouths-shovels, to go on and on with their moving over dirt.
We have long left the ground breaking event.
But still... no bottom, no shattering surface below, no prime course except downward.
Some reach across, stretching an arm, a vocal chord to get to the farthest side of the open space.
Some just teeter at the edge, peering in, squinting eyes and biting a lip.
And then that brave one, that fearless and brazen beauty of a beast, the one who shakes it all off and takes a dive.