Month: March 2016


The nave is a peaceful, holy space,
but nuns I fear — just in case.



I have sailed the seven seas,
crossed the Arctic on my knees,
but I’ve never worn a salamander suit.

I have scaled the highest peaks,
and explored the deepest creeks,
but I’ve never caught a golden bandicoot.

I have read the works of Shakespeare
(— whatever it takes, dear),
but I’ve never found that pleasure’s absolute.

Some day very soon,
I’ll reach for the moon,
but I’ve never had a working parachute.


The smyrna on the mount

I rode into town
on my jet-black steed,
an actor of world renown.
All my fans know,
that in every show,
I only play the lead.

I went for the role of Othello,
— an actor could do a lot worse.
Then at the audition,
they gave the position
to my goddam bloody horse!


Marlboro man

From the shores of Emphysema
to the plains of Poisoned Lung,
I puffed along life’s highway
to the banks of Withered Tongue.

Now bury my heart at Aix-en-Pains,
where I will lie at ease,
beneath a guttering mound of ash,
downwind from Smoky Breeze.


Artist’s Statement

My artwork is grounded in the process of transformation, be it of the mnemoteutic or of the insular deceptions of city life. Having said that, I’m always eager to explore the subtle meniscus  between automorphic continuity and everyday texture on the one hand, and the seductive panegyrics of (re)constructed f(rag)ments on the other.

For me as an artist, the me(trop)olitan has always evoked notions of harmony and inner peace — a poetics of metastasis, if you will.

My main influence is Daffy Duck.


My lovely Diana
could play the piana
like a concert-hall performer.
She could tinkle those keys
with consummate ease
— adagios seemed to transform her.



Rudy Valentino
was really very meano:
He gave his wife a plastic wedding ring.
You’d think with all that money
he could treat his honey-bunny
to a poke-your-eye-out
glitzy bit of bling.