A DIVINE COMEDY

Kline

an image is meaningless without context: three young men lie awake, (Full bed, no quilt or cover, Cramped, they fit.) grey light filters through an open window, a neighbor waters his garden. five a.m. and night eats color.

69 is cyclical, it falls into itself like a circle, it is Cancer, and Gemini, a pair.

a painting in Paris: Dante and Virgil, (They look on, displeased. They are background.)

two pornstars wrestle on ruddy stone, it is gay, and it is horny; the bottom is bent into a backward C, pursed buttocks supporting the top’s strong muscular knee, bottom’s legs are gently crossed, foot over Achillean calf, top’s left hand on bottom’s strained bare ribs, caressing the writhing darkness. top holds bottom’s arm; plants hidden teeth on bottom’s soft flush neck.

(there’s no makeup in Hell.)

(“night eats color,” and “caressing the writhing darkness,” borrowed from “Backside,” by Chika Sagawa, 1911-1936)

(he told me they tried to recreate the painting in our bed.) In numerology, 69 is balance— harmony.

(Lying prone, inert in thought, I counted my breaths.)

El Hombre Y La Liebre

Andrei Brauner Guzmán esa noche, bajo la luna caprichosa, el campo adquirióv un silencio siniestro. Lo único que se escuchaba era el soplo del viento que llevaba consigo los escombros recolectados del vasto paisaje. En medio del inmenso vacío, un hombre conducía por un camino de tierra que cruzaba el desierto. Tenía una cruz atada a un collar de cuentas que colgaba del espejo de su camioneta, que estaba descolorida y vieja tras años de manejar hacia y desde las minas. En la radio sonaban las canciones antiguas que escuchaba en su infancia, una etapa de vida ya casi olvidada, si no fuera por los dulces recuerdos que las melodías evocaban. Las herramientas rebotaban en el asiento detrás con cada tope en el camino. Con su prisa, generaba nieblas de polvo que le seguían por millas y solo eran arrastradas por el viento.

El hombre estaba pasando por una curva ciega que estaba escondida entre una cadena montañosa cuando, de la nada, apareció una liebre en medio del camino. Pisó el freno y apretó el volante, preparándose para chocar. Las llantas de la camioneta resbalaron con el polvo en el suelo, haciendo que diera vueltas hasta detenerse. Alterado, el hombre salió de la camioneta, y se sorprendió al ver que ahí se quedaba la liebre. El animal lo veía de lado, extraño e inmóvil. El minero miró a su alrededor y observó como los picos se cruzaban en la distancia, formando una ‘v’en el cielo. La cadena montañosa, poblada escasamente de arbustos y cactus, guiaba el ojo al justo lugar donde permanecía la liebre. Su presencia suscitaba un pavor escalofriante como si fuera veneno, comenzando a surtir efecto.

Una curiosidad morbosa comenzó a invadir al hombre que lo atraía hacia el animal cuando, de repente, sonó una voz áspera, como una bolsa de baratijas, sacudiendo con disonancia.

- ¿Me conoces? - inquirió.

La voz emitía de la pequeña liebre que se encontraba solo unos metros delante de él. El minero se fijó en la trompa del extraño espécimen, esperando que dijera algo para confirmar que no estaba alucinando.

Volvió a preguntar, - ¿Será que me conoces? - El hombre abrió los labios para contestar, y con la voz temblando dijo -¿Eres El Diablo?- El animal retorció su cara y sacó una carcajada perturbadora del hocico.

-La gente llama ‘El Diablo’ a todo lo que no entiende - dijo - Se equivocan en pensar que el caos es maligno. En realidad, es el guardián del destino. -

- ¿Entonces, sería mi destino estar aquí esta noche? - preguntó el hombre.

- Sí, el destino te llevó a mí porque representas algo que lo tenemos todoscontestó la liebre.

- ¿Y qué sería eso? - preguntó el hombre.

- Representas a ti mismo, y en eso, a toda la humanidad. - le contestó Dios.

Leitmotif Cityscape 3

shelby morGan

Digital Photograph.

BREAKING BOUNDARIES — NOT “INDIAN ENOUGH”

LeeAnn Rooney

Identifiable shapes and figures, Neutral and passive.

We anticipate and accept these as Native American art, with ceremonies, moccasins, and yes feathers.

Sioux War Dance

Herded like sheep, No individualism, stay in your box.

Horses and men circle ‘round, Stay in your lane, look the part, paint Indian-ish

Sioux Ceremonial

Calvary is here; wagons and flags, and Death for man, woman and child.

Guns aligned point toward skin, bare.

Wounded Knee Massacre

Break free from the confines of your assumed identity — Indian — Artist

They stole from us, but never your self-expression. Freedom; take it, embrace it, declare you!

Swirls of orange, red and gray, With foot and hand and face.

The spirit will take hold and transport you. Stories from grandmother. He Comes From Fire

Honor the Buffalo, thirty days, A turtle drum to beat Yellow — life

Believe it, live it, create it.

Evil Spirit of the Buffalo Dance

Transition to Abstract, Angular shapes and saturated color, This is Dakota Modern, This is Oscar Howe.

Let the viewer feel, see, experience, take joy. smile, cry, laugh, love, hope, and remember.

LeeAnn Rooney

Stimulus — Space — Response

Space is the time to engage your brain, thoughtfulness reaps — rewards. Don’t let free thoughts from mind to tongue throw shit at the fan, thud, enjoy the power of the pause, 1,2,3. A few breaths, taken, consider what was said, construct your thoughts, transform words into intended meaning, speak when ready. Quiet, pivotal moments reveal all. With verbal response comes… responsibility, accountability, choice on each day, with each word said, be reflective self-realization follows — actualization, introspection, acknowledgment. Exist powerful!

A powerful capacity drives us to a long and silent space, a better place, solicitous, and with intent.

Our stories are about how we choose to respond, what we respond with and what is said. Forever saved, absolute, never reordered, pen on paper, web and chat. Time lags, like — wind altering a path. …use creative zest freely, but more importantly, use care abundantly. Our ending is ours to tell and to relinquish.

DAVID LeeAnn Rooney

His father called him ‘Diabach’

The guttural sound of the ‘ach’

Like a growl and a roar amalgamated, Toughen him up – his dad said.

David’s big smile brought laughter.

Buck teeth and more freckles, Than seems possible on one face, Topped with strawberry colored straw.

Hand-carved stick in hand

Waving it around the house and shouting

“Let the dogs bark Sancho.

It is a sign that we are on track!”

Hidalgo or Don Quixote, Either role acceptable — David played them well.

Monty Python obsession came next, “It’s just a flesh wound.”

No arm, like no soul, More than a flesh wound.

But as luck and faith would have it, The Church and society said no To all of his passions, No to the tomfoolery, to innocent joy, the role-play. A wife, three children, and a job, All acceptable, All responsibilities

— Satire and silly laughter, not so.

He bought the hibachi

From a nearby store and Into his room, alone he went, he sat, The dark blanket of depression enveloped him, and he Turned the knob and waited.

For bliss

“Because the maddest thing a man can do in this life is let himself die.”

Self Portrait

andre cruz Digital Photograph.

A State Of Mind H

Mars

I fill time overturned regain and I will balking

I reclamate into material fulfill time in my

I am constant to be more

I turn over restore flourish at predesign recreate I fill time

I overfill the glass leave me in ways not resigned to ravel unravel fulfill time time and again and restart unattended intended redesign making the unmade I overfill time and again unmoored on your skin test the heat reach in ready to rise to the touch inconsistency capillary action of an active mind filling the vacuum when not otherwise occupied my mind is always on like an Aga a simmer not far from a boil warm