Horton Plaza Breakup/No Makeup

Why deny mushroom and risotto with fried cauliflower and iced ginger tea? Wear it gone!

    Woman corn bid hat.
    Husking dress.
    Sleeping Beauty separates.
    County Bottlers club drinks.
    Endless Love Times.
    For you steak eaters, we have pork. Better to eat pan fried floured tofu. It’s spicy just like catfish too.IMG_0436

Pieter’s MamiesShosho

MamiesShosho’s Cinnamon WashNosh #mamiesshoshostorytelling Rain day for ginger walnut pumpkin, dreaming of our country.

“They took my babies from my body after chasing me through running California streets. My brother? Where is he? Pray. An Episcopal Church opened their door. A place to regard. “Daddy, Daybo is a cold City hustler. Only your best will do. I will not need a classic instruction.” My family, forever. #Always Baby needs Oil of Christi.

The One Story of Pieter’s Mama

Pieter asked God, “Throw me a bite. Please? A big chunk-o-chocolate in my mouth tasting just like, her. I hate that mama. God. I dislike her refusal to learn who does the placement of potholes_______in perfectly good streets.


God? Mama Chunky?

On her face?

God, she talks about you like ya’ll do everything together. She wants to be a Dallas Cowboys Cheerleader headlining as a singer during Super Bowl Half Time.” Pieter climbs into a bus, thinking up riders as they appear in seats next to him. His lips moved the last time on God’s word. In this moment, he is silently transfixed on the pancake platter inside Greens Country College, while talking inside his head and mean staring down folks.

That’s her story. Are you her shelter? Stop that, we want better.

I never met my Mother, so you haven’t either. Jesus please have mercy.

Her backing is when you come home, just for the purpose of taking us all to Heaven.

Pieter orders food for three options on meals, “This and that, and them.” He screams out to the waiter, “Ma’am? I’m walking her daily treats to another state.”

Blessed Beauty

Disney only shows me dirty chocolates and their fresh churned first editions. Spittle around (platings). Purlo, drive me up to her old ranch door? Take our gift so she can have a base movement for partnering Newton’s thoughts on through the night. This one-just, silly. Her can’t, goes around the mountains. Earthy and full delicious round cakes.

That’s your baby scent.

They never pay! I don’t know no mountains. I don’t speak mountain. Ugh, just don’t rain on me. Try that.


Miss Bunnlee Coffee Hour


Photographed by Kimberly Yarbrough Carpenter 9/11/2018 inside Atlantic Terminal. Brooklyn, New York.

I shouldn’t wait here. My brother showed me the city. I never see him in or near his job, and that’s not a place for waiting.

Robert did not live in Brooklyn. People move when they’re not allowed to be themselves. Life in a Coffee Hour is a moment for silence.

I will not wait for more lies. My brother very carefully structured his life to include me. The city is there…

Gargoyle’17 Dance Hall

Smiling faces crackled onto peeling Kodak paper.  Used up soft offers given as shouldered burdens by anti-ableist illiterate nonmakers.  Take her gum wrapped present in hand.  Holding that sucked 20 years from bubbling on any bed in a scheduled municipal demolition day.  Nana’s Republic is into main street bell ringing all the way from here until Dad shows me I am.  Huh, whatcha thinking?  That’s low for a shopper like you.  Artists make it from bottom to top.  My goodness! I don’t know, summer is right near 2018.

Jane Austen’s Coast

Snapping masks and long unbridled tales beneath a short stance, and here they come.  Why enter?  Questioning could malign a more traveled persona.  I believe he uses shake musk after I trim his beard.

The hair.

Torque the engine.  Management is on the scene.

Bare chips?  Her fevered spice is an illness justly deserving my kind.


How’s June?