feather by feather
This is how the sun will come, through the window, tree, and fence. This is how the dream will turn, lead gray to bullet blue. The deed gone into remission, the seeds spend by breath and wind. This is how the dead will call, from the thin veil parted to the ink of confession. Feather by feather, bird by bird. The day...
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This is how the sun will come, through the window, tree, and fence. This is how the dream will turn, lead gray to bullet blue. The deed gone into remission, the seeds spend by breath and wind. This is how the dead will call, from the thin veil parted to the ink of confession. Feather by feather, bird by bird. The day...
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little bird
I find you feather by feather. I find you swaying in that gossiping wind. Lost in thought or missing sleep, your eyes every fixed instinct, every asking ever shed. Each further picture a drawing breath, a fleeting shadow. The press of fingertips, bare against the air. The chill of your silence, the depths of scent.
It is written in an instant. The force...
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I find you feather by feather. I find you swaying in that gossiping wind. Lost in thought or missing sleep, your eyes every fixed instinct, every asking ever shed. Each further picture a drawing breath, a fleeting shadow. The press of fingertips, bare against the air. The chill of your silence, the depths of scent.
It is written in an instant. The force...
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lull
The light drifts through, feeling like innocence, feeling like a child stepping carefree into the street. The wind bit and caught, granting debris the power of flight, setting every tree to dance. The tension in the sky somehow imbues this dry dead flesh with the stripped down version of some callow song. Hot and cold, vivid colors and such a funerary dullness. The people...
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The light drifts through, feeling like innocence, feeling like a child stepping carefree into the street. The wind bit and caught, granting debris the power of flight, setting every tree to dance. The tension in the sky somehow imbues this dry dead flesh with the stripped down version of some callow song. Hot and cold, vivid colors and such a funerary dullness. The people...
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wrecking ball
After awhile, no-one even asks. After awhile, no-one even bothers. That is what you get when you give away everything you give up. That is what you get when you write it all down just to be done with it. The cities of secrets, the lingering contentment and the spent contingency, the cards misdealt and the hand played through. Join hands and dance...
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After awhile, no-one even asks. After awhile, no-one even bothers. That is what you get when you give away everything you give up. That is what you get when you write it all down just to be done with it. The cities of secrets, the lingering contentment and the spent contingency, the cards misdealt and the hand played through. Join hands and dance...
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sinister
The wrong hand laid into it, abandoning all hope of craft or labor. The wrong touch is on it, all hope buried again beneath all the ruins. It is in the chill that lingers, it is in the night that crawls, this wayward notion, this stumbled path. Hunger and thirst, all the hounds of habit are loosed. The dream is lost somewhere in the...
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The wrong hand laid into it, abandoning all hope of craft or labor. The wrong touch is on it, all hope buried again beneath all the ruins. It is in the chill that lingers, it is in the night that crawls, this wayward notion, this stumbled path. Hunger and thirst, all the hounds of habit are loosed. The dream is lost somewhere in the...
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impasse
I will no longer bother to write these letters. I will finally give it all a rest, no pen and ink and postage to worry or delay. Scratching away at every surface. The itch of shadows crawling on the skin. The written down sound of all this collusion. The bottled message always adrift. Then I can finally abandon waiting on the mailman. Then I...
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I will no longer bother to write these letters. I will finally give it all a rest, no pen and ink and postage to worry or delay. Scratching away at every surface. The itch of shadows crawling on the skin. The written down sound of all this collusion. The bottled message always adrift. Then I can finally abandon waiting on the mailman. Then I...
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radio
The sky keeps all its secrets, from the glass black to the cornflower blue it only shows the part it gives away. The air lit with radiance and whispers, invisible ripples pulling everything together, wandering over skin and sea. The wind first sharp then soft, coming uncoiled, every breath a tether, every word a leash. Some sense of speech, some proof of life, this...
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The sky keeps all its secrets, from the glass black to the cornflower blue it only shows the part it gives away. The air lit with radiance and whispers, invisible ripples pulling everything together, wandering over skin and sea. The wind first sharp then soft, coming uncoiled, every breath a tether, every word a leash. Some sense of speech, some proof of life, this...
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invention
There goes that arrow, loosed into the depths of the sky. There goes that notion, set adrift out upon the flowing ice. Somehow the daft affect, the dull reflection of the motive leaving tracks in the action, the fabled grace only ever there under fire, all these tangled traces inspired only by their absence stretch the shadows along the tight skin of the day....
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There goes that arrow, loosed into the depths of the sky. There goes that notion, set adrift out upon the flowing ice. Somehow the daft affect, the dull reflection of the motive leaving tracks in the action, the fabled grace only ever there under fire, all these tangled traces inspired only by their absence stretch the shadows along the tight skin of the day....
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tense
She smiles and somehow all the ley lines intersect, the world dissolves in greens and blues, and I am listening to that record, headphones warm and cumbersome, my room dark with promise and want. She smiles and it is that song, fresh and familiar at once, heavy with secrets, everything waiting just outside. The hiss and pop of the needle finding its way into...
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She smiles and somehow all the ley lines intersect, the world dissolves in greens and blues, and I am listening to that record, headphones warm and cumbersome, my room dark with promise and want. She smiles and it is that song, fresh and familiar at once, heavy with secrets, everything waiting just outside. The hiss and pop of the needle finding its way into...
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pebbled glass
The focus changes though the lens has been broken for as long as memory runs. The stippled seeping of low wattage light, mimicking the beading of water, catching the gist, missing the vision. The drizzled sensation of an object, imagined half-way near to real. The odd pointillism that forgives all distinctions by erasing them entirely. Something witnessed in such a way that it...
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The focus changes though the lens has been broken for as long as memory runs. The stippled seeping of low wattage light, mimicking the beading of water, catching the gist, missing the vision. The drizzled sensation of an object, imagined half-way near to real. The odd pointillism that forgives all distinctions by erasing them entirely. Something witnessed in such a way that it...
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threshold
The day holds its breath and plunges head-first underwater, or so the light seems to say. Dusk whirling all around, sudden gray mingling with uncertain blue, everything awash in this drowned palette, everything sunken beneath the tide. Eyes flail the street, sifting the wind, looking for some glint or glimmer. Darkness falls, leaving everyone looking for the light.
The body makes its business known,...
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The day holds its breath and plunges head-first underwater, or so the light seems to say. Dusk whirling all around, sudden gray mingling with uncertain blue, everything awash in this drowned palette, everything sunken beneath the tide. Eyes flail the street, sifting the wind, looking for some glint or glimmer. Darkness falls, leaving everyone looking for the light.
The body makes its business known,...
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xxxholic:
Happy birthday, dear!
the aim
The hour is ground down to diamond dust and table scraps, stars spattering the curtains, moths batting away at the screen. The clock watches while the night holds its breath, the coffee cooling in the cup. The light hums on while the dreams are rearranged, ordered and dismissed by their earnestness and distance. Sleep is out there somewhere, wandering the streets.
Time bundles...
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The hour is ground down to diamond dust and table scraps, stars spattering the curtains, moths batting away at the screen. The clock watches while the night holds its breath, the coffee cooling in the cup. The light hums on while the dreams are rearranged, ordered and dismissed by their earnestness and distance. Sleep is out there somewhere, wandering the streets.
Time bundles...
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