Frag 3 (2003)
You said I need comfort
food. I threw together
something. The weather was
unhappy. Trees bent, leaned
like spears thrown and sunk in soft earth.
The wind blew over like
an argument we'd forgotten.
The ice cream I made was
chilly as the still air from vents
in our bedroom. Under TV
light we almost slept. All night
skin cremes, dicers, phone sex
dialed our dreams. The moon
blazed unwanted, a telemarketer.
No, we don't want any.
When art fails, I rely on professionalism.
Today's post is an exercise in rubbernecking.
This "fractal poem" is from a series I started several years ago but abandoned. I'm not exactly sure why I gave up on the project. It just wasn't working for me. There were about six image/poems in the series before I sent everything off to the bone yard. I had displayed a few of them in the fractal section at Renderosity briefly, although I no longer have a gallery at that online community.
So why resurrect this corpse from its tar pit sleep? I don't know. Apparently, we are hardwired to slow down and stare at accidents. Besides, our "failures" teach us something -- even if it's to drive past the current art wreck and speed obliviously on to the next one.