Owl drawing - pencil on paper

Crane, Arch and Bun

Fountain Tight

Beyond the height hill flat

            like those memory sleets

a word worn, a bloom arose.

Lean into a fountain.

            Kisses you turn to me

with hands clasped behind your back.

Jellyfish a sigh disturbed.

            The tender us

a cool body shall dare mingle with

in translucent being. And the water

            to ensconced this chilly fruit.

Our bodies press warm.

Our lips. Who would have thought that

            summer crowds merging

and isolate steps from out my down

about this facile time touch deft.

            The cottons clinging.

My hands with a dew like down niche,

moist sap. Water run the passive crush.

            Your hips, my eyelids.

Like those that this memory sleets.

(This is poem #1111)

Shmioux Noir: A film by James D. Autio

Under Under

Rain is coming. I thirst

in the rain in the clutches of a roux hold

in a bent putty boat.

Rain comes. I’m that under rain

is modified in the links of these boat break.

I am under the rain. She is changed in the connection

of this broke bark smashing.

I under stayed the rain which changed

in connection with the thing where she is broke,

this crying voice that I am.

Eye the hind part, brocade wriggle

that the libretto button elicits is muff

and whisper fleck of pure pour.

I whisper lick. Whisking prosthetic phases.

Slow the rain. Under the rain.

I am under that rain.

I am puerile, lucid and sanguine

under a nihilistic bug pump.

I cut the gasket, under gaslamp.

Snap whalebone fat lamp mist.

Yawning, the vulgar brook ice

off the broke wet tip off under

brown sugar peninsula. I’m hooked

to birds on wires. Black owl awning

a seed packet gone now. She presents herself

a bit shackle back and break care sooner.

Carmelize butter splat I crowd the margin,

slip pat down the crust of a muffin.

Silken tuft in a lilac bed. I slow the rain.

Broken stalk contour of your brush erasure.

I squeak and thump in hedge. Thicken stick.

Under under. Watering can.

Also in a Hat

Also in a hat.

Putty. It just is.

That leak scours

via it is filmy. My

sweet counterpart.

Companion coil.

Sacred glisten knots,

so rich and darken.

Declared the nugget

turned and too late

along the ashen flue.

I with you dreamt

atop a pamper furnace.

I saw that beguiling

bird lick her moisten

maw. Shorn the wear

down rituals. Such is

the reverie enclosures.

Spindle water then

the prospector. Bird

to a hooded daemon

and still somehow

weave salvaged. The

brim compressions,

for in that we took 

comfort. So many 

to drift by 

dwindle

bower. 

Linger: A film by James D. Autio

Cupcake - A film by James D. Autio

Gabriel's Mother's Highway Ballad #16 Blues

Redemption Ebullience

There some who through low

which would want to go to, to

do so out of compulsions hidden.

Most. This then is the manner of

redemptive possession. For whom

the tablet lain solely of the way

to will even casual, else had I fond

of such a defiance. In the immediate

buried then has been splendor

in a guise has also gone. To were

carved out the mythic. Attributes

the brow to the blossom. That any

into which lies alongside the vigil

presided. Urges the referents back.

Basis of notion spectator transform

many places, a profound conscious.

We Walking Shrines

It took me nearly twenty minutes to become like the others. Pen in hand, textbook opened and sprawled across the table while my eyes, desperate for any distraction, glance up each time the library door swings wide. I stare unabashedly and track the movements of every student crossing that drab and utilitarian carpet, until they’re finally lost to some quiet corner of their own. Only then do the others and I turn back, reluctantly, to our research papers and memorizations. I should be chipping away at my mountain of Psych terms, but my mind’s tracing shadows on the floor.

There’s this something someone called “Walking Shrine” towering over me. The thing could, conceivably, be sauntering legs, though I think it looks more like a triangular teepee frame. The lodge poles were ripped and bent by years of prairie wind, charred black in some turbulent episode, now forgotten. The buffalo hide covering for the teepee, too, has long since deteriorated, leaving only tattered remains. Snagged within, almost hidden, are torn strips of multi-colored garments once worn by generations of families who no longer have need of such things.

It’s strange that the burnt and broken down remains now decorating this library appear to lean away from that bright red fire extinguisher hung on a nearby wall. The “Shrine” looks as though if it could, it would step quickly away. I recall being singed by events in my own life. Despite the proximity of alternatives I could have used to avoid misfortune, I, too, stepped willingly away from safety, toward the more thrilling future. Living is all about those choices.

Cloud: Next Year’s Skull

Countless then settle the crablike fingers on a bicycle seat.

We’ve grown mean to after drift than burn at threads of a sentinel

string parting. It’s a plough roughening the lascivious pillow shade

are both wheat and a theatre shield. The harrowing waltz. Bathed.

But still the upward foams were piled the frilled in the wool

of dampen sheep road grain and wet of its once opened the widen

blanch contusion beyond even our own ascent to become

the marvelous design as if fluttering the bare upon the top

of a nebulous space beaten out of stone enclosures.

Poésie Noire

Bits gleaned from atop the powdered rungs

and doll tongues strung upon a braided cord clasped

between folds of frilly frue, you come

in the night wrapped in ermine and brooch

over fetching skirt, and you’re tippled on the putty,

and I’d sure dig it, but not so go and such tomorrow:

your face mashed and snorgled, perfect shroud

of your makeup layer permanently Turinning my pillow slip,

eggs flipped over my frypan and my sizzled sausage

already sorted like two stacks of cordwood

dumped from the truck and claimed right there

by a hungry pair of lumber barons. Then me,

apron in the kitchenette, my eggs on the plate

getting cold while you proof and yodel under my shower hose,

juice from a sliced orange creeping your plate

and sogging up your toast while I expect the sound

of your bus at the corner. I’d climb into a barrel

of slowboil tar and leaf through the complete works

of Jacques Derrida as I wait for the slow dissolve.

Still, I’m no Marlowe and you’re less Dietrich

than I’d have you be, no femme fatale echoing pumps

down the wooden hall outside my office door.

You just came in the night a bit better for wear.

I’ll feed you my eggfry though you’d like the hardboil,

and by light of day I’ll drive you home in my Packard

with benchseat and rear-projection stock footage.

Sky People - video essay

Bird of a Jetty

Without greater negation that there

  should be no loose rain forever so to fragile

with yet it seem. Talk our prescient

  salvation as out of a broken reservoir.

Casual. No sleeps in the glimpse.

  And there is little parting.

That there must persist, we suppose

  that put so by the song, a cameo liquid

framework to shift the only slight

  enlarge. Not to girdle with anxious. I could

know and who might get through

  the sensory fill now that the dark shine

and crying of the synod under frayed

  wallpapers. I write a name on the mourning

sun. I’ll be far to see to sing more formal,

  the point to each thing for what forgetting.

Tried for a private sorrow. But when you tried

  never did ache and stripped of a sound hollow

sluice bent. Behavior too have given way

  to get us through, as with an unbridle stealth.

More realize of another time, of a dark hold

  of a bent putty boat, directed but when it come

to be more expectant. Or so to care,

  but of course the abstract voices enjoin us.

Sopor

    Under course in leaning basin

  so fault until the lamp sprayed.

You did not that bought about

in the sweeter anguish, and

later in a garden.

    And then burning. Had sought

  to lent that they must go to a

faerie robot patina and to faith,

the tiny thing among side

the chatty nasturtium

    and blacken currant that looked

  naïve. That there are no schedule.

For this flap back look such as that

split then. Solemn the sun hid

of a huge and ridged eyelid.

Duluth - watercolor on paper

Jellyfish Pickle

      About don’t, headache and bull bauble twirl

nestled in the coarse gladden, has milieux in the tuque,

sluice in the wine bag fluke and bum along is breading.

Align unless. Be live and we believe in now, a moose.

He clomp ginger over meadow, a gherkin muse

of moist breath vale pall. Snort the jimsonweed

burlap bitter notions and drop hide sack to muck.

In pickling sludge soil, supine tureen bowl over blister

and silk scrub hisses. Wormward. The nipped flute stem

wear bent wet cord petites upon that which even crow 

molt. Course the hair gone grass thin cluster rot now

rise to glass opaque bell structure, rise to fill a sky

by electric nettles. Lightning bug wander string.

Jellies graze in cluster of timid nuzzle, though       

lick a clouds staid of may craggle blues. Snuggle

a petite cigar. An echo void between jelly fishier.

Moose bull thunder now gone to kowtow.

Such the quiver pickle in the vinegar brine inch.

Goodnight Minneapple

Brimful Jug

If once the pond they rose to hold to hurt,

  her hands she cupped and spoke so slow and she

    the one they sing of ply the veil. And she

that stood were kept at least and blind to put

  such drink today my mouth she bruised if once

    from me withdrawn to which I gave undone.

The walk the toil the veil ornate as one

  in this belief and gleam of sun so that

    we all in kneel to pray. We lay that was

if once unscathed by will confess and His

  the hallowed scorn had mount and now if each

    whose word were stir and simply left to lyre.

Bones & Skillets pt. 1

Bonsai

She also happened with her sense left upon this

 and again she saw awhile a couple and went after

  until the night garden exploded and with her ongoing

   were left pure, were it not to divert the elysian field

    that set with relative features. With no touch were it

   made possible to peach. And in this way was she asked

  for the cushion sugars that she had tried to the koi pond

 and she laced herself into such fragrant liqueurs there

and were to bloom to. Ask when the daisies emerge

 waterproof and demonstrate such plague signals after

  having put at the rational hook which had left with

   enough to denial when turned to easement. Then

    she turned reclusive. Use. She spared unframed then

   by the altered body compositions with no recourse

  to greater definition. Just as she had chosen persistence

 liners that you are now a snail alongside the tinier rind.

Gush Hedge Then

My life

from this

stirring a

gentleness

which movements

like a considerable

beast designed to

refract sun were

sculpt the molded

prairie flowers. And

crushing against some.

I slept in violets,

were silent that

we heard and as such

that trembled

of the render deep

toward me to wake.

I ceased sleep here,

its cloth of derision

taken and also

from then on.