This page contains a collection of some of my blackout poetry- all created from magazines. Interpret however you want, enjoy.

In 1996, in 1997, in 1999, black-and-white imagery. Instantly identifiable yet equally indescribable. So many, you can't decipher one from the other. In the lush hillside, a 100-year old orange grove. Focus on picking the flowers, flower petals, 1,750 gallons of oil. Sweet temper, volatile alcohol, a hint of rose. The emulsion, ephemeral, hard to formulate. You often have to shake in the absence of, seeking a different kind of love laid bare.

She wanted to prove in honor. Maybe, how to think and feel in the world is not to live under a cloud like grace. Despite the questions, the abdicated responsibility. The most vulnerable in a world of people is God. To protect who are imprisoned or killed is wrong. I see everything and I believe lies more than truths. Exposed and taken. I think a long time is what manipulation is (we both say).

Six-foot-four-inch, good fortune, the 1990s. Sunny portraits from another era. Depcitions of eighty-nine and failing. He was dozing, largely shut down. His face, slim, seemed impish. Apple cheeks bidding the world farewell. A name he couldn't recall. War zones and self-deprecation, he, a boy lost.

There's no question. I see eyes and smile. This is the thing in my life. I'm certain, as far back as I can remember. It's the first thing. Everything melted from clarity. Anything prior I don't understand. The world swallows a great sadness. How beautiful, the accumulated pain exploded.

The mystery lingering once again. A seized idea bearing a plea suspected the entire time. A new sense of finality, intimately aroused, hoping to find forgotten treasure, a story of how the wrong decision could rectify my mistake. I am ashamed and sorry. Not just for art or explnation, but for the very cultural dominance that has been missing for decades. Art maintains risk, reputation, the evidence, and the assertion. Every bombshell in a victim, a terribl catastrophic tratedy forged in lofty ambition. A catalyst to the extravaganzas in a leap of faith

Our faces burn, we love it. We, already in too deep. Wooed off a California cliff. A vivid body-horror, a certain susbset gripped. The only excape from the Abyss. Entwined in it. The promise is darkly seductive. By the end, what lingers: beauty and ugliness, ripeness and rot. Listening with held breath.

I was two women. Did you see what I said? In the mirror I would repeat a howl and birth a new doctrine. Everything visited, but reckless trades caused corruption. I suppose that's where the confusion began. This evil was upon me. It claimed demands. I paid only peripheral attention. Bizarre things floated about. Mass murders, a crisis confused. My denial was silent. I did not engage. I did not try to address the confusion. The interchangeability, the forgettability.