pinch
It is that least pressure, a flicker in the eye-lid, a cloudiness in the situation on the ground, leading to this vast remembering. The press of fingertips weighing on your lips. It is that pallid language, all steam and sigh here upon the precipice of all conceit. Following the leaf and litter, the wet foot prints and the startling appetites of snails. That clear...
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It is that least pressure, a flicker in the eye-lid, a cloudiness in the situation on the ground, leading to this vast remembering. The press of fingertips weighing on your lips. It is that pallid language, all steam and sigh here upon the precipice of all conceit. Following the leaf and litter, the wet foot prints and the startling appetites of snails. That clear...
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right in the head
There is a sea of wayward dreams, where that ship that has sailed finally sinks into oblivion. Where the moon spills into the tide, shattered constellations and the breakers foaming at the mouth. Where every flicker forgets its claims to your affections, where every glimmer runs like a fever over your name. I float upon that surface, those waves of myth...
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There is a sea of wayward dreams, where that ship that has sailed finally sinks into oblivion. Where the moon spills into the tide, shattered constellations and the breakers foaming at the mouth. Where every flicker forgets its claims to your affections, where every glimmer runs like a fever over your name. I float upon that surface, those waves of myth...
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purchase
The street settles on the gray of slate, painted with the sunken light and spattered rain. I swallow the cooling coffee, tasting ash and metal. The day stretches onwards, strangling whatever sunlight can slide past the clouds. I think that I should leave a marker, set a stone. Place some sort of reminder for this tangle of mismatched moments, the afternoon when the last...
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The street settles on the gray of slate, painted with the sunken light and spattered rain. I swallow the cooling coffee, tasting ash and metal. The day stretches onwards, strangling whatever sunlight can slide past the clouds. I think that I should leave a marker, set a stone. Place some sort of reminder for this tangle of mismatched moments, the afternoon when the last...
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clockwork
There is a cast to the darkness that can only imitate your absence. A warmth of a wound, the boundless burn of a lack of flesh. In these shadows I hear music, that soft retort of blood and breath. That strange shifting of weight just out of reach, that sumptuous arrangement of tenses, past and present, insoluble on the tongue. The shifting of pipes...
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There is a cast to the darkness that can only imitate your absence. A warmth of a wound, the boundless burn of a lack of flesh. In these shadows I hear music, that soft retort of blood and breath. That strange shifting of weight just out of reach, that sumptuous arrangement of tenses, past and present, insoluble on the tongue. The shifting of pipes...
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aftershock
It must be that fragment of the moon, loitering in the treetops. It must be that brushed steel taste of the winter longing to leave, seeping through my teeth. Some spell of dusk and sweat, some weaving of mistake with truth. You suddenly so close I smile at the stretch and pry of you. Those bones so deft and solemn, your back bare to...
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It must be that fragment of the moon, loitering in the treetops. It must be that brushed steel taste of the winter longing to leave, seeping through my teeth. Some spell of dusk and sweat, some weaving of mistake with truth. You suddenly so close I smile at the stretch and pry of you. Those bones so deft and solemn, your back bare to...
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the goat
The stretch of day, the pause of darkness. The vetted prayers, the hollow heart. It doesn't matter, that dry click is always there. That fateful plunge into the rollicking tide. That razor whetted smooth and thin. All the worn through remembrances that always call, waiting for the wind to shift. Awaiting all the weight to break.
The eyes can not close, the dreams...
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The stretch of day, the pause of darkness. The vetted prayers, the hollow heart. It doesn't matter, that dry click is always there. That fateful plunge into the rollicking tide. That razor whetted smooth and thin. All the worn through remembrances that always call, waiting for the wind to shift. Awaiting all the weight to break.
The eyes can not close, the dreams...
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creep
It's an arms race scenario, the weather gone missing, spring just around the corner. The hours all add up, the accumulation of word problems. The sickness becomes embedded and the poison trickles thicker into every dream. This is where you wake, a few words past winter. This is where you are, with rain upon your breath.
The shadows stick and the clock keeps ticking....
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It's an arms race scenario, the weather gone missing, spring just around the corner. The hours all add up, the accumulation of word problems. The sickness becomes embedded and the poison trickles thicker into every dream. This is where you wake, a few words past winter. This is where you are, with rain upon your breath.
The shadows stick and the clock keeps ticking....
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that darkness down the hall
You have to step off the porch to get an unobstructed view, the street seemingly asleep, the night barely begun. The porch lights dazzle, the headlights push shadows down the street. Lit windows disguise all manner of crime and passion. The sidewalks nearly shine despite all the dirt. The thrill of footsteps just out of view. Some huddle of a...
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You have to step off the porch to get an unobstructed view, the street seemingly asleep, the night barely begun. The porch lights dazzle, the headlights push shadows down the street. Lit windows disguise all manner of crime and passion. The sidewalks nearly shine despite all the dirt. The thrill of footsteps just out of view. Some huddle of a...
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midnight to stevens
The words were all dissolved in wax, those fitful whispers, that crisp descent. The sound of cement and glass bottles, the sound of rain pruning the leaves from the trees. The old analog hush just out of earshot, the needle fitting the secrets of every groove. The taste of moonlight, the tongue cast in sand. That sadness of a song filling the...
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The words were all dissolved in wax, those fitful whispers, that crisp descent. The sound of cement and glass bottles, the sound of rain pruning the leaves from the trees. The old analog hush just out of earshot, the needle fitting the secrets of every groove. The taste of moonlight, the tongue cast in sand. That sadness of a song filling the...
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imperative
The rain arrived, though I wasn't there to witness it. The world mostly works this way, without consent or agreement. Things show up, things disappear. There is nothing to be done about it. I just sit and smoke, reading whatever I happen to be reading. The rain just falls and falls, a gentle sheen, a streaking of the view. I see whatever I happen...
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The rain arrived, though I wasn't there to witness it. The world mostly works this way, without consent or agreement. Things show up, things disappear. There is nothing to be done about it. I just sit and smoke, reading whatever I happen to be reading. The rain just falls and falls, a gentle sheen, a streaking of the view. I see whatever I happen...
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begin
The road is so long, this traveling too far to remember where it was you began. The broad savannah, the fiery wastes, the dark forests clotted with fog and snow. The press of clay, the burgeoning flood, the wide mirror of the sea all seem so close that the words drizzle along every skin you witness. All these names for things left in the...
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The road is so long, this traveling too far to remember where it was you began. The broad savannah, the fiery wastes, the dark forests clotted with fog and snow. The press of clay, the burgeoning flood, the wide mirror of the sea all seem so close that the words drizzle along every skin you witness. All these names for things left in the...
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the optimist
Nothing is distinguished with such a little light. Nothing is recognized in this fretful clutter. Magazines and lit machines, socks and dirt and spiders. Waking up in the dead of night, staggering to find a footing. The dark room shuffled with spark and shadow, the sound of a clock, the soundlessness of empty night. Animals snore and sputter, dense breathings and deep sleep....
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Nothing is distinguished with such a little light. Nothing is recognized in this fretful clutter. Magazines and lit machines, socks and dirt and spiders. Waking up in the dead of night, staggering to find a footing. The dark room shuffled with spark and shadow, the sound of a clock, the soundlessness of empty night. Animals snore and sputter, dense breathings and deep sleep....
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