Photoshop Tutor and Retoucher
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Monday, December 26, 2011
Bundled Christmas trees
outside Flatbush grocery
yellow cabs flash past
Tuesday, December 20, 2011
Like a blind man’s sight
rain patters across rooftops tracing an outline
Thursday, December 15, 2011
Rain thrashes briefly
then quiets to a whisper
like memory’s pulse
Tuesday, December 13, 2011
Rain hits suddenly
as if to a stricken land
someone smiles in sleep
Thursday, December 8, 2011
The Braille of raindrops falls on all our blind faces nothing to read here
Saturday, December 3, 2011
A flesh-pink half moon last mist left after the storm both dissolve away
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Detect language » English
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Detect language » English
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Detect language » English
Sunday, November 27, 2011
STARVED HOUSES
The groundwork has been laid; the drywall, the mortar, the pestle. The frame is sound. It will stand. It will give us this day, minus the bread, and forgive us the trespasses we make against ourselves. We are less than whole within these walls, we lay down and expect the leveling. We are the wasp’s thirst, dry as rain that doesn’t know another drop exists, we are stronger than the storm that hasn’t come yet.
Tuesday, November 15, 2011
Dying DVR clicks and whirrs like ghost crickets how new is that sound?
Thursday, November 10, 2011
VISION QUEST-PAK
How many times have I gone so far away I couldn’t find my way back, and relied on the bread crumbs of strangers to both sustain myself and establish a reliable GPS perimeter?
How many times have I closed the tunnel door to the past and declared this dungeon a baggage free zone?
How many times have I felt lighter than air, but cooked the molecules till they’re lighter than that, just to watch them burst and scatter like soap bubbles, and know that even less than that is what holds me here…
Sunday, November 6, 2011
blind white rock of moon fall foliage blazes red a beautiful death
Tuesday, November 1, 2011
I gather my thoughts like gutted animal skins drying in the wind
Sunday, October 23, 2011
I’m bending toward sleep crickets sound like cracking backs fall sway the weary
Thursday, October 20, 2011
The brush of my breath strums the broken-down guitar that sits behind me
Saturday, October 15, 2011
Window-frames rattle in the last wind from Brooklyn yup, I’m outta here
Monday, October 10, 2011
The wick still flickers in a candlelight vigil for the flame itself
Thursday, October 6, 2011
How dim the star is reaching above tree branches like a supplicant
Saturday, October 1, 2011
Blinking red tower casts a lonely semaphore an owl hoots his own
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
TASK @ HAND
Oh, the Zen of it: empty boxes piled high waiting to be filled
Sunday, September 18, 2011
Fireflies at dawn the stars are finally gone light comes from within
Friday, September 16, 2011
Release me, Brooklyn from the skin I’ve grown but still take me in
Wednesday, September 14, 2011
An epiphany can be a slip of paper hanging from your fridge
Sunday, September 11, 2011
Friday, September 2, 2011
How small a corner as a hurricane rages two crickets still chirp
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
The night is alive
A cicada symphony
cut with speeding cars
Monday, August 22, 2011
Lightening flashes through
burns a wild, erratic fuse
the stars are scrubbed clean
Sunday, August 14, 2011
I should walk a mile
on another man’s egg shells
before I can crack
Sunday, August 7, 2011
If I drew a blank then how could it still be blank? I got nothing here
Monday, July 25, 2011
Soaked in summer sweat can memories leave the skin just as easily?
Friday, July 22, 2011
Fireflies flit and dance a slow, cautious teletype erased as it’s made
Saturday, July 16, 2011
Oh, late-night TV robots eating my fast food this is what I see
Monday, July 11, 2011
APOCALYPSO
Can you feel it? The sway to the earth’s slow grind, that tight-curled magnetic girdle trying to muscle in and hold everything down? How much can stay bound? I could break a jaw bone to break into song, I could break the last canary out of the coal mine, I could go with the flow and be drowned in rivers much larger than me, I could sway in breezes and watch the beats hit like muzzle flashes just outside the limits of prescribed sight, I could break free and still be left empty-handed…
This dance you do, what do you call it?
Sunday, July 10, 2011
TIMES SQUARED
History repeats itself because that’s what written into its’ contract. Check the sub-clause. It’s all there in black and white, or sepia tones; whatever steps of removal leaves you comfortable with what can’t be undone. It’s a self-generating property, it’s transcendent real estate. You’re on the ground floor of a value that can only go down, and down, and down…
Thursday, July 7, 2011
My faucet’s dripping air conditioners still hum a Brooklyn silence
Saturday, July 2, 2011
Tethered spider web spins and drifts, silvery gleam from a waist-high weed
Friday, July 1, 2011
Harlem Haiku
Three spotlights skitter across a mist-laden sky off selling something
Sunday, June 26, 2011
outside my window an owl call cuts through the dark we talk about shit
Saturday, June 25, 2011
Moon-bright flecks of light drawn on scurrying current toward dark waterfall
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
Damn my misplaced faith I had the key to all things and then I lost it
Saturday, June 18, 2011
Uneven warble bird song breaking out at dawn I couldn’t name it
Wednesday, June 15, 2011
Animals squabble who can point to proper blame out my dark window?
Friday, June 10, 2011
Brief, compacted wind sweeps through the stuttering trees but does not touch me
Sunday, June 5, 2011
MIXED PIXELS
I’m just coming into resolution but I’m friggin’ losing it! I’m the pause button before the calm before the storm. I’m a handful of neutered thunder claps, I’m the sound of one hand washing the other, I’m part of the bigger picture. Won’t you mix with me?
Saturday, June 4, 2011
Chain-link casts shadows a distorted spider web for me to walk through
Wednesday, June 1, 2011
Luminous city like an afterthought rising from the river’s mist
Thursday, May 26, 2011
Dawn’s dull light spills in azalea blooms burst blood-red a deepening green
Sunday, May 22, 2011
The mewing newborn in a concussion of green blooms about to burst
Monday, May 16, 2011
A siren at night sounds like an owl’s frantic call if you hear it right
Friday, May 13, 2011
Wind clatters the leaves insistent fingers that reach outside my window
Monday, May 9, 2011
In this gathered night a car parks, stereo blasting then the quiet speaks
Wednesday, May 4, 2011
Lost balloons sail past pale orbs in the twilight sky planes criss-cross above