Blossom on the tree, you know how I feel

Got my first (and probably only) commission for the summer to do an album cover for a friend. I'm really excited to have something to do as my Algebra class comes to a close tomorrow (ugh). Actually, in 12 hours.

Fuck.

Post Script
I finished the squarenose-helmetfish painting, and gave it as a going away present.

Post-Post Script
Forgive the poetry if it's not your cup of tea.

Discontent cleared with the fog and left its stain
My dear Supplant, spare me the details;
born and pulled out by the root.
Near your clavicle, shy of your vein,
another open mouth gaped
for sustenance from your
still heart where I used to feed.
A ransom for the sins of mankind,
her act is innocent in one-sided
affection and affliction.
You wept,
open and waiting for the rain.

A diversion of sorts

Beware my attempts at poetry.
I wrote this back during the winter for my father (psychosis, much?)

I.
I married my wife and not my children; question for tree:
does pollen belong to the flower, to the roots

roots to the soil?

II.
Fermented vine of delayed fruition
eight years long, vintage fifty-six - this coming harvest

moon.
III.
I will not beckon with hardened fingers, bend and
bind O Root, come home.
Veins never bound --- why start now?
IV.
I did not marry my children, green & budding writhing
upward trusting into darkness the life and

the shame of gray bodies.

© Caitlin Interruption

Death of a Swordswallower

This is pretty much every art critique I've ever had.
And also how I feel people will interpret the next poem.

In our avoidance, sharing that
same tide that eddied and
flowed through the hallways
Before the light rushed
Breathe in

Bad habits and genetics pouring from
sleepy skin, large unwashed ears
The cure cost me all but
two locks of hair twisting upward
and your bottle of cheap brandy Breathe
Out

Alone you pluck the same song
Head cradled on a block of cedar breath
Stricken, leave me some navigation,
And wait for the Sans Hecate's lovechild
Turn