D. Anson Brody

Organizing a cabinet today, 
I came across a photo of you. 
It made me pause, 
close my eyes,
and take a breathe. 
It made me think in metaphors, 
and feel the pang, 
subdued and gracious 
lacking want.

That was a…

  I'd like to discuss my journey with A.I., from the existential dread that consumed me a few years ago to the reframe and the art I'm now making to find meaning in a post-A.I. world.

   My name is D. Anson…

Kodak and…

Twin lenses meeting eyes 
sun-kissed silver, salted black. 
A ghost’s whispered cool tingling 
and gentle tapping at my back.

A fixed moment, 
begging for another moment, 
a spark of chemical desire.
A jewel pulled from the char,
burning…

A freckled finch chirps from behind the callous layers in my heart, 
and it gives me such a feeling
that I wish she’d take me with her when she flies.

Whiskey, a quality poison, breaches my beak and does it’s…

I could write of the rapturous terror felt in your presence, of your eyes, your smile and such,
But thats not where my interest is sustained.

We gaze outwardly together 
in the same direction. 
Shared vision, shared passion, 
a shared…

Chicago Jazz and one or two too many, 
makes me think of you. 
I wanted to tell you, 
I love so many aspects or your talent, 
it’s the deepness I value. 
I’ve come to appreciate the delicate and untamed corners.  …

People resist being pried,

even if it’s from their aching ignorance,

but no one can think their way out of loneliness,

though I could miss myself all the way to you.

The ridges of fingerprints

touch of velvet and Prussian…

A whisper wrapped in Shakespearean lines, 
delicate in shadow like absinthe and orange blossoms. 
Bringing the thumping chorus of o-negative hallelujah, 
complete with broken throne 
and cut hair.

I cannot name the spirit,
but to the red ghosted silhouette in…

It’s late and I’m in the darkroom printing the image I made of you. 

Sazerac in hand I realize there’s an image I make of you in my mind. 

I think about how we all do that to…

Like burning incense  
I find that you surround me, 
with the lightness and curvature of wafting smoke, 
peppery and aromatic when stirred with the sense of the world.  

Like a salve that’s seeped through my skin, the medicine has…

I see her in everything.

every piece of art,

every romantic gesture,

every heartache, every poem,

each sunset.  

Beyond reason and a world that always makes sense,

my inner everything yearns to hear her…

Chest a flutter
thumping in shadow, 
with fragile wings sealed behind glass. 

Passions thick 
in brown glass bottles,  
fix little silver virtues.  

Red ethereal mercury  
a gilded mirror of madness awaits any with careless ambition.  

Such a beautiful thing  
a…

You are not regular 

You are not plain 

You are a blooming triumph 

the most wonderful 

and unique person I’ve ever met. 

You are the recipe for filling the hunger of my soul. 

You…

I am a better man 

and a terrible one 

I am a genius 

and a contemptible fool. 

I am compassionate 

yet disconnected 

I am warm 

I am cold 

I am kind 

…

Meadows grow tall, 

and Rivers overflow 

so seeds grow. 

Stars shine carefully, 

and Bluebirds wear blue dresses. 

This is one day.

This is the world.

A Lucky world.

A fan called me. 
She had recently read one of my poems, 
and she wanted to know 
how I would define beauty. 

I told her that, “Mankind has tried to quantify 
this very concept since alpha, day one!” 
I…

I love her like magnolia wishes 

and children's laughter. 

Like a bee's dance in white daisy fields 

and a gentle moonlight shining on twilight's doorstep. 

I love her like that bird hopping in the snow 

…

I think that love is a reasonable madness. 
How awful life must be without a reason for madness.
I did not forget, celebrate tomorrow, 

but today is reason enough without it.

These old artist stereotypes are alive and well.

Cleary the culture can't support human values

without twisting them down into the uncanny valley,

but it's too late to complain, isn't it?

I chose it.

It's…

I lay here with the book that is my memory,

left opened by my dreams,

opened to where I’ve earmark,

to where I have gilded the pages,

where each smile is inked in red letters,

…