a rare undream poem from Chris Wayan's journal, May 1990
I wrestle my mouse, and the mouse wins.|
I wrestle my muse, and the muse wins.
What the hell, keep painting. Blast
the rainbows into tumble-chunks. CRASH!
Oops, I forgot to save it.
Rawness masks beauty,
In my grandma's youth, strange
And then came whorebooks:
Records, film, mass literacy. Hmm.
But as that bulbous verse mushroomed,
An old couple came to pick dandelions
Their grandchild Jamie, dandelion-tall,|
Finds damn near all.
They're rumpled lovable calico quilts,
But these bees forage 30,000 square miles!
Niches in brown infinity
These later Americans, too,
My hand won't paint alone.
In my warm niche (the garage steps
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