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Spring is rolling into town like the most disreputable carnival. Bring on the chimps and chumps, the barkers and the bastards, the stilt-men on unicycles and all the rest. It's been too quiet for too long and too cold besides. I want a New Orleans jazz band dirging through the dirty streets proclaiming the death of cold, the demise of slow death by boredom's sword. It may not yet be the lyrical time of renewed green but the nights are beautiful neon-fused tents of fog, struck up over the bones and corpses, rubble and blood that rain and flooding have drug from winter hiding. Get me a snake man with a sousaphone, a trumpeting herd of pachyderms, drummers beating rhythm on camels' humps! Gimme a bagpiping lion tamer holding his beasts at bay through sheer power of his hypnotic glissando grace notes. Tropical festival puts winter to the torch, lighting the sky with juggled flames and the eternal delight of Mr. Muerte's jungle republic of rhythm and dance and revelry. It gets harder to go to work each day.

Let's move to the saturated land of Mr. Muerte. Distracted by cries of love and moans of sorrow issuing from night's windows under noon's sun, we can stumble happily over the corpses of sad beggars.

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John T. Unger poet

I'm best known as an artist and designer. Relaxing makes me tense, so I tend to put in a lot of hours on diverse projects.

Before becoming a visual artist, I spent 15 years as a poet. I studied poetry at Interlochen Arts Academy, Naropa, Stone Circle and on the streets. I performed my work for years at Stone Circle, solo shows, poetry readings, and at Lollapalooza in 1996.

I still write poems, but only if I can make them fit the constraints ofTwitter.

Mobile: 231.584.2710 (9 to 5 PST only) | Email me

Art IS my day job

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