"A Night Falls" (Sketch)

Who pulls the chain that raises and lets down the sun? Who pulls the moon, or is someone throwing it around Earth on a huge lasso, drawing the tides in and out of their inexorable pattern? A town crier passes through the Earth's stage, shouting "The sun will fall! the sun will fall!" Who listens? Who heeds the ribbon of light dying on the horizon's edge, and whispers to his/her friend, "How long before the sun bleeds out? How long?"

 

"Tree of Life" (Sketch)

With every piece of life comes death. 

"Bottleneck" (Sketch)

Sunshine & Lizard-skin (Sketch)

Eaten from Within (Sketch)

Jellyfish Parachutes (Sketches)

And it was only in the darkest hour that I saw through three worlds, and felt the roots cling tighter into the soil. I glanced up and glimpsed a handover of dead leaves and worlds embroiled in their own anger. Jellyfish parachutes drifted quietly down while on another world a planet's rings confused ice chunks collided. Beside me, through a window of roots, I saw where these falling objects would soon lie, and shuddered to think at the windows of escape closing with each twisting and coiling ladder.

"Alien Take-Over"

"Hi Brennan" (A Eulogy to my Grandma)

"May I buy a vowel please?"

"Uh, well, yes, there's three of those!"

Ding, Ding, Ding!

I remember these sounds,

and your smile, eyes glittering with joy,

watching wheel of fortune on a high school night with me,

wondering how you always knew the answers

without looking at the T.V., knitting non-stop

needles singing and shimmying against each other.

I remember your Simmy and Sammy bed-time stories,

how they fed my imagination with imaginary worlds,

and how I could never recall the last few words of each night's story,

because the touch of your hand on my shoulder

was enough to lull me to peaceful sleep.

I remember the smell of your duppa,

the comedy of colors on everyone's Christmas sweaters,

the crackling of wrapping paper,

the kids' bug-eyed looks of anticipation...

Then a frigid train ride to Chicago Christmas tree awe,

and the sugar cookies I stole from your kitchen, warm and soft from the oven.

A smile instead of a frown, milk instead of a "no."

I know of your ceaseless love of God

and the sad joy you carried in your heart of Carl's passing.

Or the faith you had to keep your family safe during partition,

and the shake of your head when your two silly boys would sled down the hills of Murray.

I remember you pinching me when my dad preached,

(with a smile of course, that famous Davis smile)

and how a yummy lemon drop would fall into my palm

for every part of the service I could keep still through.

I remember your Bonneville SS,

and its fresh leather smell, terrible power and unquenchable speed.

"Do you need me to drive you anywhere today Gram?" (wink wink)

I remember the smell of your Park Circle hallways

how it felt like home to run to your door,

how it felt like home to see your smile spread ear to ear,

how I have never seen you unhappy,

how you have never for a moment stopped loving me,

your Peanut.

Go in peace grandma, and tell grandpa you're home.

I love you.

Iceberg Storm (Sketch)

Between ash-gray clouds and rain like a wet sheet of sadness are tiny puffs of clouds. Hooked to an angry iceberg, they sway, swish and slash across the sky in terrible fascination at the trap laid for them long before the dawn awoke and retreated hurriedly at the sight of the ashen horizon. I am fascinated to how one thing hooked to another allows no movement, freedom or exit. Yet they are together, perched halfway between the sky and ocean's floor, floating somnambulists to a sea's rhythm and rhyme.

The root of the vein (A dream)

It was stunningly clear to me. I had awakened within my dream as a man halfway buried in dark, damp, moss strewn soil. I could not feel my legs. I could not feel if I had toes, nor understand where our instinctual human urge to bend legs and sprint down a hard dirt-packed path had gone. My chest was bare, a single enormous muscle carved down the middle, ending in the dirt that started at my torso. I was breathing heavily, and tufts of grass came puffing out every time I wheezed or coughed with lungs filled with lichens. I was screaming but there was no sound. I looked down at my arms, heavily etched in sinuous muscle, and saw they were a dark caramel brown mixed with rock gray. Branches, twigs and vines began growing just around where my fingers should have been, and curved in lovely arcs out over the forest floor, twisting, growing and wrapping themselves around other trees. My entire hands were a tangled mess of vines, choking one another as they wrapped and wriggled towards a sunless freedom. I looked up at the canopy, still silently screaming, and shoved my "hands" deep into the earth in order to free myself. Instead of lurching upwards and out, I felt my hands quickly entrench themselves deeply within the mossy floor, and I began sinking quickly. It was then I felt the tree growing out of my head and I awoke.

A Zipper Moon (Sketches)

West Coast Blur & Whir (Sketch)

Mindwarp in Ballpoint