Archive for category Photography
I try to Be Good, but Look at My Ugliness, but See My Insides (a photo essay from Fort Smith, Arkansas)
Posted by Carl in Photography on March 26, 2017
America, 2017, #9 — My Brain Does Not Work Right
Posted by Carl in Photography, Poems on March 5, 2017
When fear steals
my house, patios
by her, tossed
off balconies, blazing sun
bursts through, kills disease.
America 2017, #7 & #8, Dead Factories Freezing My Worn Guts
Posted by Carl in Photography, Poems on March 2, 2017
These are not
the silly unem-
fear of dying stark-
ly alone, alone.
More Dystopia Today from Amateur Carl
America 2017, #5, “My Dedication to the Good Failed Too Many times”
Posted by Carl in Photography, Poems on February 28, 2017
They warned me —
Behave, man, do not
scream at the
drunks when you’re
drunk, maintain your head, or we’ll
paint and board you up.
Another Day, When After the Fireworks, I Knew I Was Worthless
Posted by Carl in Photography, Poems on February 25, 2017
You looked through
the windows blocking
my soul, tres-
olating love, wiping the
thought, trashing heaven.
Not-so-dystopian today, amateur Carl’s repossessed America. America 2017 #3.
America 2017, #2, Digging Empty Channels
Posted by Carl in Photography, Poems on February 24, 2017
When the cre-
vice maims my confi-
dence, and ti-
ny beasts crawl,
raging against my peaceful
love, shadows kill me.
More Dystopia Today from Carl the Amateur
I Try Not to Slip Away from Who I Want to Be
Posted by Carl in Photography, Poems on February 23, 2017
We fixed you,
made you modern.
What would the windows do
when you have aluminum?
And lines, old lines, tan split by old,
above-ground lines, split by a
telephone pole, hand-carved sitting
by the door that would not allow you in
unless you showed your whole face
in the tiny box.
Oh but we opened a nice front
on the side and more aluminum
and now there are sadly-ripped papers
glued and taped to that window,
that door and the painting
on the window
look so stale, as if to be dead.
We gave you plenty of spots
but you sit there with
empty slices of bored, and
waiting for action,
the brightness of the energy
we need. And then,
would you watch that concrete
on the front?
Did we fix you, old man, or what?
No more curves or gaps or carvings.
We gave you 50s slab,
and if you don’t like it,
bang your head against that slithery, slimy wall.
until you bleed,
and the aluminum
laughs at you again and again.
America, 2016, Unnumbered, Crashing Crumbles Aboard My Late Train
Posted by Carl in Photography, Poems on February 20, 2017
from concrete, crumbles
spray grain dust,
crushing spirits that fly, creeps
crimping my dead brain.
Yet another Dystopia Today shot from the amateur Carl in some very small town (somewhere hidden in the midwest) sometime late in the Summer of 2016.