The year hardly started and it’s already getting used up. The calendar counting another month out, time parsed by cup and bowl. Coffee slowly steaming, gathered flower waiting for the burn. The weeks fly fleetingly, the flesh trembles unto dust, the treasured rituals disappear as if the never existed at all. The way you set the table, the order of the silverware, the water and...
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At least you look the part. You look like they’d think you’d look, and seeing is believing. It might work if you stand just so. It might work if you stick to the script. Belief is easier when everybody does it. Remember the audience, remember the ensemble, remember where the exits are. Play it right, it’s money in the bank. Take the show on the...
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amra:
I just love your writing. Thank so much for sharing!
This is just me, and I’m no expert, but people seem to like to have a good time. The case I make is purely anecdotal, I’m going by the hooting and the broken bottles. The gutter tossed condoms and the discarded underwear. The moon shots and victory riots and the fireworks displays down the block. Spills and chills and varietal stimulation. I don’t blame them—...
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The weight of the world is held by a single light shining on the ceiling, pressing shadows across the textured heavens with a steady shining kiss. The sort of kiss that shines so bright it reveals the essence across each moment, a lesson from all that it is and the legions it is not. The shift among the realms, the moon pulling clout from the...
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The horizon is bright as the sun relents to the realm of dusk and rain, settling the clouds on color as the world goes away. The gray and blue catching feelings from other hues as the shadows swell. Shapes turn to suggestions, words to dirt. The windows watch but the power is out, eyes blinded no matter how wide they are held open, the light...
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I never quite know which camera’s on. I never know which machine they mean. Everything goes up in smoke, the moon reigning above the clouds, a rustling from the box by the door. Everything is making maps and seeking out the circumstance. The stacks you make to throw away, the stars you’d cross to have it back. I guess I’ll leave the music on, I...
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The rain falls on all the usual suspects. No bees, no birds, no golden rule or noble words. It comes around to the tune of the body count and the plotting of prayers. Daylight muted by the spill of the dampened atmosphere, heart plundered and sunken in some sunset bay, all rocks and foam and the wilding waves. We want, we wait, we get served...
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Your letters still elude me. There you are— your voice, your wit, your virtuosity— all in the grace of your deft and clever hand. All your declarations and assurances, all the mundane traces of the day to day, the literary cool and the carnal heat of your craft folded up in your art. I read you and I can see your eyes. I read you...
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The small shabby room is crowded with books and animals, paw prints on the comforter, dust heavy on the shelves. A single lamp burns brightly enough, light spilling in through the doorway, the shadows shoved to the floor or up against a wall. The window is always open, and the cold wind hints and hollers as the rain goes away. The night walks through the...
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It falls on the wrong side of the reckoning. It misses the point of the illustration, this stifling ever after, this stunned same old song. The day ran me ragged, the night leans in to make sure it hurts. The slow unfurling of these boundless banners, the victories and the celebrations as the earth swallows light and shadow, left to the devices of the world...
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It’s the next best thing to ink you think as you move to make your case. It’s the way you state it plainly in your actions, the way it spills out when you speak. The dull plod of daily betrayals, the sickeningly sweet scent of the flesh of sacrifice, the default move to escape. This altar of glass and ashtrays, the way the prayer takes...
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It the color of clouds and the sweep of the season. It the smudges on the lenses and the thrall of the smoke. The crows all work their home bound wings, twos and threes towards the roost, gray clouds taking color from the chemistry and the runaway sun. Power tools and electric blowers ring out, here among the aggressively swept streets and brutally attended lawns,...
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