-UNTITLED- ; Oil on Canvas

-Philadelphia- : Poem

PHILADELPHIA

The right mind twisters of an aging hypocrite sink the doe eyed banker 

as the poker crazed women fill your window with silk painted souls

Baked fresh, in an outfit of gold, the rubber politician loosens your grip

and the city breathes on

Concrete, magnificent concrete fills your suburban lungs

while craven opportunity sits on a street corner molesting the innocent mind

as the city breathes on

False fender insinuation underneath the franklin bridge 

where rubber is smashed and acrylic colors clash

and lest we forget the rollerblading trumpeter passes on ill-tempered path to locust

while the city breathes on 

Small toddlers cry out.

"Girrragg, Girraggg, Girragggg"

Not knowing the meaning of their words, or their forthcoming life

And young tuxedo kid has his rose pinned on

declaring the end of adosclence 

while money mongers sprawl the valley in search of empty hearts

as the city breathes on

Beatnik women with beatnik hair pass the square with packed lunches and open toed leather sandals

underneath the spell of freedom- in the city of freedom

while big money joe wears every pin stripe on his way to a power meal, power meeting, 

deceiving the public, encroaching our funds

And who can forget the fashionistas- of every sect, roaming the streets parading the streets

with purported class and dig down ambition

their children at hand, learning their own rendition

as the city breathes on

Our city breathes with the breath of millions, the hope of all

Its colonial columns tested by time

Its hard boiled streets forgiving each trespasser, as we look in wonder of how it all started

Killer instincts float above the fire hydrants, on their way to the northeast

And folded kickstands and flaming exhaust fight the parking meters under grey skies

Our city breathes

It breathes with the triumphant, ancient, brotherly, breath of Philadelphia

-Twisted- : Oil Pastel Drawing

-The World-: Pastel Drawing on board

-Jimi- : Oil Pastel Drawing

-UNTITLED- : Poem

Deep trophy filled smudges of long lost love stammer between perpendicular lines on lips

But sinews breeding in lonely pockets, lock it, pop it, for fear of the free fall drop, the deep hearted heart- the silhouette soul

Ambiguous feelings breathe under yuppie spells of fake contention, consuming the self of former individuals,- former free flying swaggers

But spurs of time, with chalk filled walls of abstract, changing by day, changing by night, will seal this fight

-Negative Exposure- : Drawing - oil pastels

-UNTITLED- : Drawing- Oil Pastels

-Kidnapped Vulture- : Oil Pastel Drawing

-UNTITLED- ; Oil on Canvas

-UNTITLED- : Poem

Getting lost in jazz-mixed translations
Feeding futile minds and escaping the reality pressed upon us
Nothing was free, yet out lives, mobile as can be
Caught wind of every idea, imagination and full fledged scent

-The lost drawing- : Oil pastel Drawing

-Battle Elephant- : Water color painting

-UNTITLED- : Drawing- Oil Pastels

-UNTITLED- : Poem

I've developed a weird sleeping habit

I sleep in my bed for the the first four hours

then i go down stairs and sleep on the couch for two hours

I believe you caused this

thank you

It feels good- like smirking in a room full of people

But I need a new habit

-BEACH- : Poem

Ruminating among gelatin vibes of yesterday, rises the feeling, provided by sandy, sometimes frigid moments we tend to call the beach; its been you and your partial causes all along.

A caravan of thorough horses running through our youth

Screaming with a  clairvoyant character, beholding our old age, at the behest of a sunday morning wave

It's everything and not in a world full of half nots and half wits

Inviting and daunting-life's pure altercation should always be ridden

Its Mysteriously beautiful-the ultimate axion of attraction

Though, not a spouse

Nor an ill-driven cousin

or fallacy filled forgotten past

Its this edge of water protest that rules our world, with all of its wonderment,- yet we remain blank in our search for true living

Maybe its the froth that hugs the sand 

Or Cracken winds that sway with gregarious hands

Maybe its the waves, pounding their first, full of celestial pride

Or jetties- acting out, always sticking out- providing young men the bond they hold forever- rum drinking, young optimistic talk, and moist lip fever

Or perhaps its that practical religious feeling, absent of any disciplined god, we get…from staring straight out into its blue waters- A five minute reprieve

As if were staring into the soul of our brethren, dead or ferociously alive

-Tri Colored- : Pencil Drawing

-UNTITLED- : Drawing- Oil Pastels

-HIGH- ; Picture

-UNTITLED- ; Oil on Canvas

-Washington Square- : Poem

I awoke at 3:30am, in Washington Square

Stale with the taste of vomit, and vomit caked on my lips

My shirt was off

I was under a tree

I arose

Covered my bare chest

and walked to the street

Waved to the first cabbie I saw

offered him my last twenty bucks for the long drive

His name was Kahill

He had me sit in the front

Crackhead was in the back

Hollering and eventually trying to sell me coke

We dropped him off

Away we were

The therapy session started by 76

"Thats dangerous, man "

"People get hurt, man"

Ok Kahill, ok

Walked into the house

roommates asleep, as stones

Realized I had lost my car keys

Work in the morning, I thought, but no keys I thought, nothing but a lonely crazed drunken soul, I thought

-Bombastic- : Drawing-Oil Pastels on Mom's shed floor

-RANDALL CRAZYHEART- : POEM

Randall Crazyheart's anxiety could be confused with patriotic duty, 

But it could never be saved by any valiant force

nor could it dry itself from the lake of his parents divorce

Elusive, quick hitting solicitude can blow through Randall's mind with fair weather ease

Tightened, sharp objects of worry strike blows in each waking minute

Nettled cubicle's spell suicide as in Ginsberg's tale

starch collars posses the acrid smell of routine

and each toe-tagging lover's tag reads,

"Infinite heartbreaks always outlast a lifetime"

The lint disagreed

with his empty love pockets

But the true brain denied access 

 and the game never ended

Truly, there must exist a panacea, for his weak state 

A pill, a woman, a twisted drug filled delirium?

A therapist with laminated papers inside oak carved frames ?

Something for his dislocated disposition, his maligned flash driven thoughts

His bedroom even weeps daily at the sight of young Randall hovering the carpet

drawing pictures of abstract

The windowsill wants to trade rooms, the mattress wants to support a confident body, and the radiator wants more style

Randall bemoans the thought of each object, inanimate or not, wanting to leave his side

wanting to escape the depression driven collision filed on the first of july

Crazyheart, despite all the avoided confrontation, and the ill driven decisions wants to dignify himself

Set himself on his proper gilded track- the art encrusted, youth infused, driven life filled with odd accomplishments

But Life's oddities may strike us humorously- great poems written by poor writers, paintings painted by an athlete, pictures taken by a mathematician 

-all fucking the mind to believe the impossibly gorgeous

But Randall saw the light, the proverbial salvation of one-through his art

through creation

through minimization

through study

through self...

-4 Faces- ; Drawing-Oil Pastels

Drawing: oil pastels