A. H. is a friend who taught me that I didn't have to apologize for being an artist.

Here are some lost poems from evenings spent with the sooth sayers.


6-21-88

inside the box sat my heart
resting on a half oyster shell
as if in that way
I could become a pearl,
The essence of irridescence
sparkling on the nape
of the neck
of the Newport neophyte
who walked upon the wall
above the shore

(accompanied by picture of pearl box)



6-25-88

me oh my oh
mmmhmmm-
whats the way?
right,right-
I knew it all along

(accomponied by a picture of a baby neo-con)




7-5-88

the sofa sat
and she
sleepily collided
with its knobby
uphulstery forces

(accompanied by a picture of a party goer in red and orange crayon)