St. Lapin
  • St. Lapin

  • Is this how we are supposed to feel?
    As alone as we as barbwire
    as Castrato sing song? Long hears.
    Long looking for a mirror in a white
    wall. Days. Just sun and rolling
    over into nowhere. Could there be
    enough glue in April to stick together
    us in a hole from bb wounds?
    And the coyotes yelp. Can we hide?
    The squealed gunk congeals to form a choir.
    An egg sinks when your fever rises again.

  • 6" x 4"
  • Oil pastel and color pencil on paper
  • 2007