I Was a Teenage Sketchbook

The sensual, the surreal, the beauty we overlook on a daily basis, the dark urges, the exotic escapes; words and images by American artist, John Goss.

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John Goss was born in Santa Cindy and was raised and lives in Asia/Pacific. Learn more about John at Siamorama

Monday, June 26, 2006

Medicine Man

I can't heal myself! Spit
Gold teeth to a rusty puddle
Of blood in this ochreous
Hell-stretch of bone-pocked

Desert. I'm pickled in
Whiskey and dying
In this trap; tourists snap
At the copperhead in gasoline,

Coyote pelt, splintered Injun
'n sickly shootists. Joshua
Tree's whistlin' Dixie
As high noon gnaws, everything

Dies. I'll be borned agin --
Beady trinkets, fistfuls
Of spine to charm
Your squaw, your whooping

Child. Bury me
Alive. Ribcage
Rasps one last supper o' dust.
When my eyes are fingered

Shut -- see --Clouds like mesas
In a blue stream sky,
Buzzards hawking

My bones for ice.

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