1.
old
record
spins spins spins
on
the
player
i watch it
with a cup of tea
and a smile
needle goes up and down
in
the
round landscape of cliffs
a
calming
meditation
in
movement
2.
the
45
is
a
wax photo of motor city hearts
a
blueprint blacktop
of
tar and gravel
an
inevitable powerful chug
like
a
killer laying waiting
or
a
coup in the night rain
that
rings
true
bells
with
my
dna
my
heartpump
and
my A13 diversions
from www.45cat.com
you glimpse a moment
or it stares at you
becomes
a
THING
so you scribble it down in a secret book
pleased
you saw it
pleased
you noticed you noticed its standard horror
and
you
wrap it up fresh and quick and keep it on ice
in
a
freezer bag
and
its
nurses again - theatre staff really
in anonymous blues and paper caps
eyes
are pools
are angels
are nuns - sun in black rainstorms
shining
from
the
over-washed uniformity
and
when
changed
and
clutching car keys clocking out
they
look
somehow
just
like
condiments
in a hungover breakfast nook
from jeremyriad.com
the artist didnt know who they were but he called them.
everything was done.
he was due his payday.
he called them, the angels/aliens, whoever, and they came to see.
he'd met them, well it was weird.
enough to say he met them.
their taste in art was expansive and he had an idea.
he had technology too.
physics was his slave and the angels/aliens had promised him Paradise Now.
the artist went to work.
he froze the earth.
or rather he froze all the things that make up time.
or rather he slowed them down.
a lot.
weather cycles, metabolisms, chemical interactions.
slowed done.
a lot.
so it looked like the earth was frozen.
he created a still three dimensional living diorama of everything on earth.
the couples in bed frozen at the moments of conception.
the criminals trapped guilty in a still orgy of evidence.
rockets firing with frozen flame.
in hospitals and retirement homes the instant of death captured.
all it.
all you can think of.
the fairytale moments with kids in the sun with drifting blossom.
the moments minds were lost and hearts broken.
car crashes and tumbling planes.
the miracles and the mundane.
he'd dome it.
he called it Earth.
and the artist called them and they came to see.
they were pleased.
Paradise Now he asked?
Paradise Now they said.
they put the artist on the moon in a glass room of money.
there was a plaque that said Artist and his name down by his shoes.
the angels/aliens renamed the work Losers.
they brought all their school children to see.
then they moved on.
