continuity
The dawn tells it all in silhouette-- the reach of palm and oak and cypress. The silver measure of autumn upon the rooftops. The stretch of orange and yellow and boundless blue. The framework cut in puffs of breath and motion, the horizon abiding bright.
A train wails just then, a thunder headed west and south. The rattle of the rails, the clamber of...
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The dawn tells it all in silhouette-- the reach of palm and oak and cypress. The silver measure of autumn upon the rooftops. The stretch of orange and yellow and boundless blue. The framework cut in puffs of breath and motion, the horizon abiding bright.
A train wails just then, a thunder headed west and south. The rattle of the rails, the clamber of...
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one last beautiful thing
To awake, still swaddled in the trappings of rain and smoke, and to be loved yet. To wander through these shards and remnants, and still owe something to another heart. This song does not wane, it does not fade in the noise of crowds or beneath the crushing weight of loneliness. This music is the leaf crush of the unkempt gutter,...
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To awake, still swaddled in the trappings of rain and smoke, and to be loved yet. To wander through these shards and remnants, and still owe something to another heart. This song does not wane, it does not fade in the noise of crowds or beneath the crushing weight of loneliness. This music is the leaf crush of the unkempt gutter,...
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in all madness, faith
That threat of rain passes just out of reach, leaving only a chill wind and a gray air seeping through my nested bones. It moves to the west towards the south, dark and graven and aching just beneath the tide of breathing. And it is gull and crow, the gliding shadows and the sinking sun. The whole drowned town sensation whetting...
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That threat of rain passes just out of reach, leaving only a chill wind and a gray air seeping through my nested bones. It moves to the west towards the south, dark and graven and aching just beneath the tide of breathing. And it is gull and crow, the gliding shadows and the sinking sun. The whole drowned town sensation whetting...
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surrogate
The door is held open, despite the hour, despite the weather. The door is held open, and all manner of things leave while the wind pours in. Every asking is like that, something escapes striving for that lack. Something is exchanged is the transfer of flesh and feel. Every exit an entrance, every harrowing loss still yet a gain.
They have made machines of...
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The door is held open, despite the hour, despite the weather. The door is held open, and all manner of things leave while the wind pours in. Every asking is like that, something escapes striving for that lack. Something is exchanged is the transfer of flesh and feel. Every exit an entrance, every harrowing loss still yet a gain.
They have made machines of...
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viking:
Thank you, that is EXACTLY what I meant. Its so nice when some one understands. And as to your own words, they're good ones, and useful.
mortal coil
Cherish each and every piece, forget all the parts. Life only grows larger as we age, unwinding in lovely humbling ways, night and day forever intertwined, precious and aloof. The murmurs upon the wind, the palaver of stones beneath the tide, the rumblings of heard, flock and swarm. Too many tongues for any one life, too much hardship and beauty for us all....
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Cherish each and every piece, forget all the parts. Life only grows larger as we age, unwinding in lovely humbling ways, night and day forever intertwined, precious and aloof. The murmurs upon the wind, the palaver of stones beneath the tide, the rumblings of heard, flock and swarm. Too many tongues for any one life, too much hardship and beauty for us all....
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object permanence
These busy hands sometimes stay empty for days. These greedy fingers are never too far from the choicest plum. The vagaries of some mythic skin, the lost notions of your face pressed into my palm, the ghost of tense and tension go clambering through my brittle nerves. These chains dragged up hollow stairways, each link a bone, a tooth, an instance of blessed...
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These busy hands sometimes stay empty for days. These greedy fingers are never too far from the choicest plum. The vagaries of some mythic skin, the lost notions of your face pressed into my palm, the ghost of tense and tension go clambering through my brittle nerves. These chains dragged up hollow stairways, each link a bone, a tooth, an instance of blessed...
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glitch:
loved your comment thanks!
beautiful writing!
beautiful writing!
give up the ghost
The last act is written in the sand, awaiting the close reading of the sea. The final chapter is buried like treasure in those weary folded hands. Prophecy exudes like steam from the warm flesh of each finished day, every starry night freezing secrets in frosted grass and spilled light. There is a shine to the truth when it falls from...
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The last act is written in the sand, awaiting the close reading of the sea. The final chapter is buried like treasure in those weary folded hands. Prophecy exudes like steam from the warm flesh of each finished day, every starry night freezing secrets in frosted grass and spilled light. There is a shine to the truth when it falls from...
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mab:
hi 
mab:
thanks! how's it going?
however far from home
The gray streets and the green weeds, the cold smoke and the hot steam rising from the sewers. The long narrow lanes lined with cars and shadows, the trash day memorabilia scattered against each curb. The winsome smile, leading the way long after the end of the day. The clatter of claws on the sidewalks, the jingling of the tags that...
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The gray streets and the green weeds, the cold smoke and the hot steam rising from the sewers. The long narrow lanes lined with cars and shadows, the trash day memorabilia scattered against each curb. The winsome smile, leading the way long after the end of the day. The clatter of claws on the sidewalks, the jingling of the tags that...
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naming
It is in the broken light dangling amid a halo of moths and beetles. It is the fetid water lingering from the last rain, clung to by the brittle legs of mosquitos. The sharpness of the stars, the drift of restless spirits across the deep gray sky, all the writhing of myth and promise that your memory evokes. Dark, tear laden eyes, shining with...
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It is in the broken light dangling amid a halo of moths and beetles. It is the fetid water lingering from the last rain, clung to by the brittle legs of mosquitos. The sharpness of the stars, the drift of restless spirits across the deep gray sky, all the writhing of myth and promise that your memory evokes. Dark, tear laden eyes, shining with...
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nothing lost
The constellations leaned hard upon the roof tops, shedding their dense mythologies off the eaves. Their stories mingle with the fecund dreams rising from the drowsing rooms and the sleeping windows. Some rise like vapors, some fall like leafs, nothing lost or wasted. The world will use every piece, a value for every part lost or discarded. Life shimmers, changing states. Life moves...
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The constellations leaned hard upon the roof tops, shedding their dense mythologies off the eaves. Their stories mingle with the fecund dreams rising from the drowsing rooms and the sleeping windows. Some rise like vapors, some fall like leafs, nothing lost or wasted. The world will use every piece, a value for every part lost or discarded. Life shimmers, changing states. Life moves...
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art for art's sake
The blunt air presses hard against the walls, spilling fumes and discontent. The sober light hangs in slabs, stretching the window, cracking the seen. The stretch and pause of what will be will be undone, as the intractable tumbling sets to its work. That roller coaster climb of night awaits just behind the horizon. The argument is tabled with the rebuke...
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The blunt air presses hard against the walls, spilling fumes and discontent. The sober light hangs in slabs, stretching the window, cracking the seen. The stretch and pause of what will be will be undone, as the intractable tumbling sets to its work. That roller coaster climb of night awaits just behind the horizon. The argument is tabled with the rebuke...
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They're singing in portuguese and the sand has all but settled in your shoes. The songs pass through you, confirming the worst suspicions about what matters. You take a knee, hold your corner. You await some whistle or bell. The fight is in the rounds, and someone is always buying.
What passes for comfort burns in your belly. What stands in for medicine scorches your...
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What passes for comfort burns in your belly. What stands in for medicine scorches your...
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