reypulque

of the distance yet unmeasured

The hours drain from my eyes, ink for the unwritten tome. Steady shadows mix with flashing lights, growing and shrinking every import I know. What I see, how I feel, the trembling music of old passions and burnt ash. What ever there is in me left, I offer, absent of any other visible choice. What ever I haven't written, I...
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the word

I am the least agent of culture, the abetting eye, the animal agape. Mostly fury with only that brief tepid spurting of sound, the steam of lung and spirit. I sweat through each touch, worry away every intimacy with my endless questions. Always that breathless command, that sudden wall upon all your possibilities. The word, barely aimed, ringing true.

So goes the burden...
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paper hearts

Another moonless night, another velvet sky riddled with the uncertain assertions of stars. Secret lights pushing shadows out into the trees, the wind jostling every hair and limb. The tart smoke of burning pine sweetening each breath, out here on the rusted spire, out here on the broken spoke of gravity. It seems the farther you look, the less there is to see....
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true love in gray and blue

From the rain falling like the dancing of angels to the rain falling like the ministrations of gnats to the gauzy droplets of stars seen through the mesh of a fog stained sky, the steps seem predictable. All the old tricks, right there on the table. All the small pleasures, bearing the colors of your heart. Taste the metal...
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the ghost is gone

This is the price of pale, painted walls. Of rooms that are always empty, despite those that pass through them. The barest electric light shining, beckoning the works of moth and spider. This wan art of possession, this pale craft of inhabitance fading even as the blood flows warm, and the press of fingers claim each detail. Eye flat reflections, even...
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ritual

I walk down empty streets, cold beneath bright constellations. Trailing steam and wishes in my wake. The clinking of house keys and dog chain, the link after link of steel fencing shine. Trees still graced by the clench of rainwater. Sidewalks cluttered with mud and debris. Houses sleep with their people stirring inside. Everywhere windows and walls.

I cough and sputter, gravel in my...
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even stars

So goes the stillness as it leaves, the tender touch of fingers, the static truth of teeth. Flesh and bone only linger so long, easing their way back into the clouds of elements. There is an itch, there was a whisper, there is this moment where there is a tuner and a filter. We see, we say, we slumber upon a roiling bed...
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another marker

It was closing on dawn and they had whittled away the moon. All that hung was a swept blade or a whispered spoon, glinting in just so much sun. The stars were lost in their reveries, drowsing in their remaindered light. Again my hands were folded, this waking moment a little dry and a little cold. Again there was a horned owl speaking...
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out there

Faith makes its arguments from the lack of evidence. Faith insists from the heart, it proclaims from the soapbox of experience, that perpetual as if, that sense that unseen eyes are upon us. Faith places its placards beneath windshield wipers and beside the pizza coupons on the screen. It always know better than you. Faith always has a lot to answer for.

Biology...
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day by day

Was there still a moon that knows me? Was there some poignant satellite, some folded romance or finger-light trifle? Something left to look for, once looking is allowed. Maybe it is the season, maybe it is only me. The light goes on, the light goes off. I forgot the color that means go.

I swallowed that truth, like a swallowed some fortune....
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we all wait

Another hour has fallen from the table. Another day begins, the clockwork turning with dogs barking and the weather just aching to change. Fingers stumble over the same set of smudged keys and unknown reasons. A light burns in some window, someone steps gingerly upon an unmarked grave.

Water has its spells and steel its persuasions. The distant sea and the beckoning...
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so what

The saddest light spills from your eyes, as the moon grows crooked whiskers and gentle music fades. The light pours out from this sliver of your unblinking gaze, this trick of layers of technology and the odd drift of physics. This trick of memory and the ebbing refractions of my untidy mind. I remember most the times I made you cry, so even...
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