Half-Done Art and Poetry 

nothing left to do&nbsp; but tolerating you Your job is done. Its emptiness now Moved in like the fall wind, the bitterness Always under the surface like the coming winter But never healed by summer Stand your ground&nbsp; Winning through scarring the surface is still relevant here with family&nbsp; Even when it’s over

Impossible Capitalist Cliff Notes Blown in the Glass&nbsp; Winter Seeks Sadness Requiem for the future Dignitas Dirty Deeds Done Well Hey Grandpa Even Me Apples Sku Lament to Manhattan What to expect Explanations Hampers Place&nbsp; Faucet&nbsp; Don't Panic Possum

Impossible discover a problem then jobs to work the problem&nbsp; reliant on its guts to survive food on the table roofs on the heads solving becoming absolution impossible, for survival never success never surprise impossible solutions endless

What to expect can build a house in 2 days out of the earth below your feet can’t find you a home can deliver you your heart desire, 30 minutes flat can’t make sure you have food can tell you how many steps you take can’t keep you safe can plant the seeds can’t pick the harvest can show you HD can't connect can't connect

Faucet My life through the bathroom faucet A funhouse house mirror&nbsp; Distorted moments Moment stuck in time I've never been one to stay in the bath too long. Get clean and get out&nbsp; But I always remember the reflection&nbsp; Childhood clawfoot tub,&nbsp; Swimming.&nbsp; Desert water only 2 inches&nbsp; In the 3rd bathroom Opulent yet fragile&nbsp; A mirage of my face&nbsp; changing&nbsp; The triangle where my son was born, holding the cradle of strength I didn't know I had A primal bath, cradled in warm arms Again, new and clean

Place grandmothers house, flat roofed adobe&nbsp; baking in the brutal summer sun the crackling radio orates the demise of a country, broken we patch the cracked patio paint&nbsp; and I lean over asking too many questions&nbsp; enough to be shushed away to the long path stretching out beyond the yard.&nbsp; In that labyrinth where I would find the others also unneeded, and sent out to find new directions seeing a flower: a grand courageous leap&nbsp; then a snicker from the audience.. My hands stinging a thousand needles, betrayed by innocence and curiosity,&nbsp; I ran back, looking over my shoulder&nbsp; hoping her wrinkled hands would save me.

capitalist cliff notes She explains these abominations&nbsp; must have participation I have a receipt for the altercation. Paper crisp and fresh in its possibly, glorious in ripeness This the sum potential of its ability to sustain us, that one person will save the thieves and these these imperialist ideas that the west leaves, but never the trees.

dirty deeds done well When the clean up gets to putrid, dank, damp, disgusting you can call me,&nbsp; for I can handle the thick stench, swallowing bile. Every space that dictates its recreation, we come prepared, pitchforks and tractors, trudging up any transgressions, replacing the stagnant with the vital. We choke on crusty carpet scraps,&nbsp; stank, dirty, torn with time&nbsp; we will never be bored with eachother,&nbsp; Each time we grate the pavement, for the next raucous adventure I thank the mud, acrylic paint, red clay caked in my fingertips&nbsp; and your piercing blue grin.&nbsp;

Winter Seeks Sadness Winter seeks sadness Whether rain or snow Does SADD exist in the Sahara?&nbsp; Worth the bright light and roller skates? All year long We should be hibernating Nothing should happen&nbsp; Life should freeze and stories should be told.&nbsp; Prepare for the post capitalist summer The joyous dancing that awaits us But first the secularism The nothing&nbsp; The just enough I feel myself slip deep&nbsp; Swimming in grief Perhaps that is where we belong Perhaps we should never come up Salvation is actually beyond the bottom&nbsp; Not at the top Spending too much time forgiving myself Finding things to fill the holes Substance to numb the pain Given up, one by one&nbsp; Too little too late.&nbsp;

Hampers She packs the broken green hamper, three days ago, but you must have priorities. Like laughing, while tumbling, the stained mistakes away, the white monotony, of our responsibilities. So maybe… just one load today. Surely, what will get us through, will be more.. than the chores.&nbsp;

Dignatas I wish you had remembered&nbsp; those that were still alive,&nbsp; perhaps not limited your life thrown to the wind&nbsp; I’d like to pretend that I saw your body&nbsp; felt its coldness.&nbsp; I could tell your body how you betrayed me Memory coated in the thick sap of your omissions&nbsp; Maybe your gray and lifeless fingers&nbsp; would assure me that&nbsp; Your transgressions were not done with malice Blissfully unaware of the injuries Your departure across the blue ocean would bring Sent back in a black box I’d like to pretend that I was at your funeral&nbsp; I heard you had a few.&nbsp;

Hey grandpa Hey grandpa I need you to hear you to wake up I heard you were worried Or rather…... not worried at all Because your plan&nbsp; Is working You were wrapped in bacon and fracking&nbsp; The bank account must stay loaded But there is no charity left in the funds,&nbsp; unless to strangers Oms to the public and the saints, deflection But there is not life left in the years given to the company It is over now, The job It is over now, Family moved and gone.&nbsp; It is over now. nowhere to go but into their rooms, pretending to care&nbsp;

Explanation. We unearthed layers of a welted adventure unexpected heart puncture. I can handle a thick stench, she stutters, a replacement for the past wench. Our gritty hands ripped up the stagnant,&nbsp; grated pavement, every action syncopated.&nbsp; Layers of created protective walls, disintegrated our timelines chopped but better integrated. Choice cheated, we float into the oblivion, this, the situation.

Even me A was blind to my role at first Running head long into freedom The only legitimate home for the bright eyed&nbsp; Embodied choices,&nbsp; What was behind these The desert Gathering up all the sticks of memories&nbsp; At the end it will built the house of my life.&nbsp; How will it be burned? Will the ashes be fairy dust or asbestos.&nbsp;

Blown In The Glass The blown in the glass cat, vacations&nbsp; on the sidewalk, like a santa, making lists of folk, rhyme and rhythm checking off the names of those that dismissed him&nbsp; I can’t sleep inside anymore, he says and rolls out the bedroll under the crisp mountain stars he picks a paper one hour before opening,&nbsp; teaching lessons,on where to acquire, block scrapings.&nbsp; He recounts the freedom, 50 years on the rod will get you,&nbsp; 10 years….. for every one you didn't go to fight. I expect a revelation, but we end up just sharing,&nbsp; stories disguised as presents&nbsp; buried deep within the bindle, tied tight on the long branches&nbsp; of our ancestory.&nbsp; These american nomads. Maybe I can be his angelina?&nbsp; Instead, I grab some alki and get the cookies and milk.&nbsp; Sure, I will catch the reindeer,&nbsp; before the whistle blows, through the wye.&nbsp; &nbsp;

Introduction and Disclaimer This is my first book of poetry and art It took me 40 years, it's never to late to finish. We are never promised tomorrow. The poems are in chaotic order. Connections between the art and the poetry is purely coincidental.

Requiem for the future.&nbsp; The future as a grey canvas Flooded with fuzzy memories.&nbsp; Bloated with denial I imagine my scarred grandchildren Hands full of sea water, polluted with my past left behind I tell them I tried But that is a lie For there was nothing to do No choice that would make impact&nbsp; apology doesn't come fast enough&nbsp; Some of them Some that don’t make it&nbsp; Some that get chosen Some that see through me&nbsp; 2100, we knew the whole time Called it the Anthropocene.. End.&nbsp; I’m gone now&nbsp; My breath remains in the air&nbsp; In their lungs Gasping to sing.&nbsp;

Don’t Panic. you could feel it, ripe and putrid.&nbsp; Images did not add up Welded front doors,&nbsp; bubble boy cashiers, about somehow. Our invisible border world&nbsp; would be impenetrable But.. it was time to&nbsp; lockdown, stock up, reschedule Reschedule your priorities.&nbsp; The unavailable was sewn first&nbsp; patterns shared, elastic sold out. Biggest bags of flour loaded as the bulk section&nbsp; shut down The bread aisle emptied&nbsp; The 24 hour grocery shut down At 10 We stood in front, midnight&nbsp; all the zombie movies... But still not knowing&nbsp; what to do

I strap in Metal carcass beneath&nbsp; Scaffolding and circuits built&nbsp; High and deep, bright and pulsing Resembles the past&nbsp; Under the layers of fordite Beautiful, right light of perspective But the passengers are color blind&nbsp; we can’t see the end This is not one of the rides&nbsp; that returns to its beginning Or does it? We don’t know&nbsp; nobody has returned to tell us 100 years from today Somebody with my epigenome, looks back Glimpses the ocean from a skyscraper in atlanta I try to whisper “There nothing I could have done” But they can’t hear&nbsp; I am not jacked in

Lament to Manhattan The institution assumes the will,&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;unwritten, reads: “to avenge their violent fate” It serves their purposes. Then the ghosts float amongst&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;us,&nbsp; whispering&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;memories, the ritual, passing on ancestors&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;prejudice Along with their evacuated&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;bodies, the&nbsp;&nbsp;dust choked mouths are&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;bound. These&nbsp;&nbsp;souls of the dead the day&nbsp;&nbsp;they fell and flew.&nbsp; &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;decomposed&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;security and scarce stability, they only left&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;an altar of ashes,&nbsp; the&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;zealot ponders no&nbsp;&nbsp;one finds nothing, he returns&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;empty handed,&nbsp; greeting a mob of hungry children,&nbsp; who eat the air&nbsp; to fuel their pain. lost in the blindness of double column&nbsp; then a grassy field&nbsp; then the bronze plack illumination reminders,&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;buried secrets the bloody suits still float about the&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;survivors heads,&nbsp; they kept hearing the whispers of&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;light&nbsp; asking silently, eventually, for&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;something more than carnal retribution, deep inside t&nbsp;&nbsp;he concrete ashes.&nbsp;

The Possum&nbsp; The dog knows that it lives out there now, tugging on the blanket whining late into the night. Sure to find the fuzzy creature outside frothy,&nbsp; terrified. Just a nibble, we think,&nbsp; it’s sure to disappear.. pretending to die. I have that wish,&nbsp; left alone like that, so easily believed,&nbsp; unconscious. A constant state of being&nbsp; expected to perform.&nbsp; then, when challenged refuse to participate. Perform the&nbsp; non-compliance.&nbsp;&nbsp; The fools marsupial? or genius?&nbsp;

I wasn't invited to share in the grief.&nbsp; Tell me you shed crocodile tears&nbsp; for the old women who called to the sky Why were we not sharing a meal?&nbsp; Surely this was promised us,&nbsp; the chance to acknowledge the impact crater Denied. Like you became dark matter&nbsp; I suppose you didn't think&nbsp; anybody would be hungry,&nbsp; Or the others are selfish Or both are true I’ll always remember you telling me&nbsp; all your friends being&nbsp; gone and dead and burned&nbsp; and buried These ashes of memories&nbsp; Float away&nbsp; You should have remembered&nbsp; I needed those lives

Half Done Art &amp; Poetry by Brooklyn Wetzel

Apples SKU The kind witch women offered me&nbsp; a bright green apple of growth, deep red potential of hope crisp and fresh in its possibly, glorious in its ripeness, this the sum potential, of its ability to sustain us. It was fruit full of a sin brought by this snake salesman&nbsp; patiently, pitching, sweet poison.&nbsp;

drive and buy a bidet.&nbsp; Catch up with the Europeans. First Italy, UK variant,&nbsp; Greek Alphabets For the first chapter,&nbsp; management threw gasoline onto the fires&nbsp; and fears. Certainly some of us&nbsp; would like not to look&nbsp; masked. Still blind, to death and tragedy. Behind the lies, (clowns are the most vocal)&nbsp; great TV and the long movie.&nbsp; Just as I always thought, Us, the actors of our lives.