Category: Flag

2023 February 6


Strongest proof of god
is that I can’t sing, second
proof I can’t draw shit

I not only can
nap now I need nap or I’m
feebler than new borns

I lose my balance
opening the dishwasher
Still love steep mountains

up but steep mountains
down now no, fucking hurts, knees
yes, eyes more, can’t see

where feet go, will I
kill myself deliberately
or “stumble” to my

death, a soccer team’s
shirt has joint you can bet my
death over/under

2023 January 27

For my sake I need mention I am using three different sized square watercolor blocks, 6×6, 8×8, and 12×12 which I cut to 11.25×11.25 because the scanner I use is 17×11.7. They all appear the same size here. I constantly look through here rather than rifling through the box of abandons when I want to remember a particular square or something new I was working on but got distracted and moved to next, I can remember what media I used and probably remember correctly what size the canvas, but just in case this one 11.25×11.25, the one below 8×8, laugh, starts now, this as far back as I’ll do research on this

2022 November 21

Finished my daily two-dimensional box, time to write
my daily two-dimensional poem
Width my dimension lacking, some would argue depth, I say, Death
to the Either/Or, my gag and epitaph.
I divorced the life of juicing stories and limited my experiential interactions unless
I lie, I’ve tried, I try, I can’t, am a ham liar
Worry stone daily, hollowing, not widening, the thumb niche

2022 November 18

I am the only Jeff I know.
I meet other Jeffs often
through work or Subaru
service managers who
insist their name is Jeffrey,
please don’t confuse me
with them, I’m not a James
who hates Jim or a Charles
who hates Charlie or a Robert
who hates Bob or a Margaret
who hates Peggy or a William
who hates Billy or a Stephen
Steve or Michael Mike
or David Dave or Edward Ted
or Eddie. Please call me Jeff.
I’m the only one I know.

2022 November 15

Should I write about my marriage at some point? Is this
tonight’s poem? It better be. I love her when I’m with her I
love me most when I’m alone. I’ve tried to make that not
true. She is not here with me now while I write this
poem and I will not show her the poem and I’ve never
asked her to read any of my poems. Tomorrow we hike
the Appalachian Trail through blooming mountain laurels

2022 August 14

Full disclosure: these *are* watercolor and ink and pencil on either regular graph paper or regular watercolor paper (Arches, yes, fuck me, the block does keep the paper from warping when drying), but to capture a closer image to what they look like wet (versus what they look like dry) I scan the dried on the office scanner/printer and enhance the colors using souped-up saturation and souped-up vividness and souped-up sharpness and souped-up resolution, I don’t consider this cheating given the limited skills of the artist for anything but lines and color but think I should mention it in case *you* think it’s cheating, fine metaphors abound