The day weighs down upon the body, the stretch from stone to star. The time hones the old bones, brittle blade ever sharper, waning to want and direction. The wind dives and soars, the night advances spilling from the half shell sky, brushing up against the flesh whispering intimate wishes and prophecies of your imminent death. The eyes sigh as the light gives way, shadows...
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It comes down to the differences, the map in mind versus the map in hand, where you put your you when you aren’t here. It comes down to the numbers that comes slopping out your mouth. You say the prayers that suit you, you ring around the rosies. You spend your starlight on weighted constellations, your stories the dancing shadows tossed from the crackling fire...
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The heart waits by the open window. The heart is an unfurnished room. Ashes on the nightstand, smoke idling towards the lonely lamp. The hands shift from foot to foot, uneasy with the devil’s work. The songs skimmed straight from the streaming, electricity busy in wires and in bulbs. Art and the unseen tiger, cosmic calendars and hand mixed metaphors, cobwebs dust and ash. Always...
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The sun burns on despite the gathered clouds and the angle of the incline. We orbit and we spin and act like we did something. We hurl these words like joke shop smoke bombs for cover as we flee. Our hurts and hungers flung wildly around us, trade in blame by the say so, as we fall frame by frame. Here to move the matter...
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It’s the sort of sunset that gets the bones to mumbling. It’s the sort of twilight that unhinges the jaws of the heart. Who knows who’s listening, who knows what’ll finally be enough to choke on? The day goes from show to tell, the uncanny and the ne’er do well slowly assemble their infernal internals, they take their trade in specie and in flesh. The...
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Teach me unhobbled heavens how to spend these unleashed evenings. Tell me all knowers how to fill my emptied cup. The nightmares can’t find my dreams so they share my bed, staring at the ceiling, asking “whatcha thinking?” Every swallow seems full of smoke and holes. I miss the ashtray, I smudge my glasses, I spit and fume and profane any name that comes out...
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It’s not that my robes are ragged, I am clad in rags. My cup is empty, my branch burns in tatters, pulled close by the deep lean into shadow. It’s a cold moment, old bones bared to the teeth of twilight, the crows calling from the antecedents of dusk. Watching the last touch of sunlight graze the cheek of a neighbor’s house, crow wings in...
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It’s the sound of ice cream trucks amid the birdsong and traffic. It’s the glittering of insect wings as the sun tangles with the power lines as it sets. The cigar smoke swirls and rises, dancing on the rush of wind. The cigar smolders between index and middle fingertip, the bite of fire, the persistent ember. The sun blinds in rays and regions, a radiant...
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The dusk comes soft and slow, all hat in hands and temple manners. Always it goes, gentle with its touch, shy about the center until every exit is covered. Then it takes cover and unfurls it’s standard, the herald of the coming night, swinging from every branch clinging to every eaves. I keep my own counsel, the steady curl of smoke, the field of ash...
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Leave it for another day, let the night get away from you. Wait until you have a minute to think, look at it under natural light. The fix is in, and you can’t repair it. The fix is in, crime only answers to crime. The sky turns in its blues for grays, the fade to black there in the cut, the imagined reasons evidence awaiting...
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Every night the words unwind, a fondling of the moonlight, kissing the hem of dusk. All my life ascendant after sundown, living in the landscape of the night sky. The moon mouthing beatitudes and vivid kisses, these eternities in the space of saying, the way you spell it out. Lascivious dreams and rapt enchantments, beats and bars and the deep and far. Old songs and...
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Maybe it’s the way the shadows keep stacking up. Maybe it’s the spill of unexpected rain, the hush and hiss of passing traffic, the tell of the back of the cat. I sit between smoke and song listening to the loot and loiter of the storm. Old bones and ancient ways, the dust that gathers, the fire unfrayed. This coffee cup purgatory, the sacrament cool...
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