To the Artist's Page 
To our home page
To Kurt Lee's previous piece
To Kurt Lee's next piece
breath i draw blood from a stone with a chicken bone i live on second hand smoke second hand dreams i sleep with my eyes open and wash my hair in the rain my love is the sky the wind trees washing i fill my pens with the blood from my own wrists i peel time like an orange i play cards with cans stones and three legged dogs i extract my flesh from registers in cheap food shops i walk from dawn to dust i walk from open to clothes i walk from hunger to lust i drip my blood on the sidewalk and kick my love down the street an old hand i desert myself at the crossroads and fling my ratty notebooks at the devil as he scurries away with his open umbrella and flapping shoes i weave doggerel out of meaning i wrap my old bones in pages from little girls and dead mens books i catch the laughter of bulging pockets in my butterfly net and use it to butter my rancid toast and shoe souls i catch fish with cigarette butts and turn them into birds i pull rabbits out of my patchwork top-hat and roast them on spit i have enough voices in my head to sing me to sleep in my bedroom doorways i kiss the knives that press my filthy throat in the 3am curtain lures i eat blankets and cans like a goat and chip my horns on falling snowflakes my imagination flourishes like the melting ice in van goghs drink i pluck music boxes out of my solitude and bow ties out of my hunger i wake up the next morning and rub my bullet wounds like rheumatic eyesockets i carry your groceries out to the trunk of your car youll carry my body out in a trunk to dump in the old river my soul dances with the clouds and plucks them apart like chickens i shit up my liver and kidneys for pennies and tobacco i steal your small happiness with a glance and burst it open on my stony knees the wind carries me home the wind carries me on home into knobby arms flailing about dust
To the top of this page