Sinister evening air wafts in from the industrial farms that are threateningly close, colluding. Orchards, devoid of life other than the twisted fruit trees augmented by fertilizers and over watering, ring my encampment polluting my air, water and my earth.
My garden benefits from their pesticides, whether I want them or not.
Ignorant famers, truculent to the last, call for preservation of America for the youth in debt-ceiling debates but ignore America’s dangling doom as it slides into disastrous defeat to the sludge, burning and sickness of their redundant farming practices.

First Submission

This week I’m going to make a piece with reclaimed materials. It will contain elements sentence, vanish, obscene. It’s going to be fun. I’ll see ya next Monday!


Several Mondays Later…

Using the Commons at Flickr, I’ve reclaimed some of these long unused images from the following elements.



Spill, Timid, Responsible ~ Poetry

Timidly tip-toes towards the table

Reaches up above his head

Grasps the glass and pulls it towads the edge

Until it tips

And splashing milk has splattered on the floor

Bright red face

Wide open eyes

Wonders who will know who is


For the spill