The dirt road cuts through Naked vineyards dead of leaf cover. Grotesque branches crucified and Jesus-like On wires. Wires to keep the rows straight. Embarrassed by their own nakedness Desperate to be hidden by night sky And the tule fog that rolls in from the Delta. I know your shame. …

follies bergere and mumblety-peg. water-colored tresses and fabric flows. sketched breasts and sinew. areola colored with the slightest nuance. lips parted in ahh. cheeks dappled an earthy rouge. knees warmed by black india ink. She? Liquidity… artist unknown

I hear the rifle report. I turn away at the trigger squeeze The sound of the shot is efficient. Crisp. A clean barrel shot. Not cheap I had been asked to help position the cow To give the shooter a clear shot. I hear the thud of an 800-pound animal …

a delicious whimsy becomes when one deigns to be bright rather than right! Alexandra von Fuerst

Red poppy in vase. Seen through the gauze of a Puget Sound fog. Haunted by belching foghorns. Morris Graves- Red Poppy in Vase Watercolor on paper, 18 x 13 5/16 inches Signed and dated (on the back, at lower right, in pencil): Graves ‘52 Executed in 1952

Dad holds me in a headlock In a rage, renting tufts of hair off my scalp With a pair of thin, silver cutting shears. Hair that I was stoking with my fingers Moments before Enjoying its softness that was newly borne From a steady and tender Central Valley rain. His…

les cinq ballons heart bright. feather light. gutsy in their richness. Alexander Calder — Balloons

at 74, her wrinkles have a beautiful symmetry…

oh, my! indigo pleasures in the night. undulate, flow, and sweep me to mysterious ecstasies. James Nares (British, b. 1953) — Take 118 — Blue Black, oil on canvas, (1997)