www.markchildress.com

. . .in Alabama, or wherever you happen to come from, this is the place for you.

This site is for people interested in my work: a ragtag bunch of hardy misfits, devoted to Tupperware and Red Dot No. 9, aficionados of Willie's Island and the original Pigeon Creek, those who have been to Memphis with Leroy and his secret twin, and all the way to the Golden Gate Bridge with Lucille Vinson and her Maison Blanche hatbox.

I don't know where else we're going before we're through, but you're welcome to come along. So far it's been one hell of a ride!

Now it's up to you to find your own way back home.

MOTHER NATURE'S OLDEST BLUES
An argument


Drink, while the cup is full.
Today the million trees unfold to the light in silent green spasms.
The air smells of water lifted up from the Gulf, borne in on rays of the sundriven wind.
Breathe the water from the air.
Today the eyeless earthworms are happy in their soil, writhing, unknowing, failing to grasp the contours of their failure.
Put your fingers into the face of the earth.
Enjoy the beauty of decomposition.
The hunger of the future must be satisfied.
There is not enough room for us all.
This is a joke and a portion of the second mystery.

Tonight a soft velvet curtain will fall.
You sleep in an opposite world.
Stars twitter like birds.
Birds eat worms.
Worms dance to the music of earth.
The friendless earth reclines in darkness, awaiting the coming of light.

If a woman comes to tell you, tell you she ain't satisfied
Say if a woman comes to tell you, tell you she ain't been gettin' satisfied
Son it just may be that old horse need a brand new ride, awww, yeah

Tonight in twilight the crickets awaken to the dense possibility of sound.
The air maintains its circumference.
Think of breezes and how they disturb paper curtains.
Smell the memories on your fingers.
Wait by the road. The future is coming now.
Our souls are clouds of perfume, encircling us.
Disregard these instructions.

The few. The proud. Do you like my GoStats hit counter?