You are in [this] for two reasons: one, to understand what you mean by being alive; and two, to figure out how you’re going to say it...
                                                                                                 ― Barry Lopez
An Artist’s Statement as if it were one
 
my painting has been tarantulized... a hairy image-eating spider and might be drunk.
 
Today is a handkerchief.
 
woke walkin’ to the smell of cold autumn grass and a oak full o’ sun
other words are hot coffee clipclop new boots and whaddyasay thattaway?
I’m atta loss for anotherwords and dollars and don’t know my own claim to fame
and who is or was or wasn’t inducted into the Hall of Billy the Name
the aluminum foil and great beard of factory boohoohoodoo?
so stuffed a strawberryfield without a shadow of a doubt and a shroud of uncertainty
up my envelope and knew
it was beyond the turning wheel-on-fire banjo of birth and death
and the Post-Post-It-Postum-Post-Modern-Post-Officer of the Post-Hyphen-Nation
and life as a cigar
 
thus hence whereas what-i-say what-i-say
with apologies to Dr. Freud, Monsieur Duchamp, Monsiuer Derrida, Monsieur Deleuze, all the monsieurs, and all the skin-bags full of ideas, “Where is my alarm clock?”

Sooooooooooooo... if, as this is sayin'

the eye is an ear
an untethered tongue 
a finger folded and fragrant in the mouth
of the other
or the third
eye
then
​
what is this?
​