“How you gonna cross-stitch those faces
Into your dream-catchers, face catchers,
Tender cottonwood branch mandalas?”
Says the mighty derelict,
The immaculate scumbag,
The simple bum, me,
To the artist of the awful,
Artist of the ugly,
Who crafts eight-eyed beasts
And gnarled toads
And Frankensteinian dead-eyed worms
In his waking-mare,
That sleepy-frowned
David Gonzalez of Pittsburgh.
Crooked Apache shoulder shrug.
He will with slight-of-hand,
Slight of foot,
Cross-stitch the awful beatific
Of all mysteries onto tiny
Canvasses and finger-built feathers
From here all the way to Pittsburgh’s
Hot Metal Street.
By Tony Burfield
To David
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1 comment:
this sounds like it'll make for a great spoken word piece. I like it, you got a unique style
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