deep enough
At five in the morning it was already too bright. The swollen moon blazing through the vapor, playing at halos, casting habitual spells. That ordinary magic counted down, dawn soon peeling away each star. The moon another stone calling up the ocean. The moon another goddess raising her skirts to the sky. Her altar another lifeless slab left behind.
The gods change their...
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At five in the morning it was already too bright. The swollen moon blazing through the vapor, playing at halos, casting habitual spells. That ordinary magic counted down, dawn soon peeling away each star. The moon another stone calling up the ocean. The moon another goddess raising her skirts to the sky. Her altar another lifeless slab left behind.
The gods change their...
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uva:
internment
It is that stopper loosed from the bottle, the sense that just once this revel should end. It is the press of ink and the scrape of paper, the pen losing it's art in the words. Blown kisses and swept ashes, that flavor of loss chilled over ice, green glass and white white teeth. A few years adrift and a lifetime of pictures. So...
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It is that stopper loosed from the bottle, the sense that just once this revel should end. It is the press of ink and the scrape of paper, the pen losing it's art in the words. Blown kisses and swept ashes, that flavor of loss chilled over ice, green glass and white white teeth. A few years adrift and a lifetime of pictures. So...
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commutation
There is no mystery. The chill settles in, everything painted in shades of gray. The cold air, the hills swallowed by the fog, the asphalt and concrete and sky all painted the same. Traffic lulls and speeds, it gasps and swoons. This arms race retinue of bigger and bulkier, every lane almost overflowing with steel and plastic and ire. This collision in antecedence, this...
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There is no mystery. The chill settles in, everything painted in shades of gray. The cold air, the hills swallowed by the fog, the asphalt and concrete and sky all painted the same. Traffic lulls and speeds, it gasps and swoons. This arms race retinue of bigger and bulkier, every lane almost overflowing with steel and plastic and ire. This collision in antecedence, this...
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mass
What use is sunlight when the world huddles, shrouded in gray? What use is starlight when the stars went out long before any thought of wishing was born? The coffee has gone cold, sitting there in the cup. The dust has clabbered into totems of beasts and bugs, cluttering the corners, falling with the light. I woke without knowing the day or place of...
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What use is sunlight when the world huddles, shrouded in gray? What use is starlight when the stars went out long before any thought of wishing was born? The coffee has gone cold, sitting there in the cup. The dust has clabbered into totems of beasts and bugs, cluttering the corners, falling with the light. I woke without knowing the day or place of...
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fatuous
Was your spell woven in whispers? Did you leaven your magic into my sleeping skin? I drowse through the workaday world, I toss and turn across the bridge of night. I can not count the amount of times I speak your name without thinking. I can not remember a time when I thought of anyone else. I don't want to watch you and I...
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Was your spell woven in whispers? Did you leaven your magic into my sleeping skin? I drowse through the workaday world, I toss and turn across the bridge of night. I can not count the amount of times I speak your name without thinking. I can not remember a time when I thought of anyone else. I don't want to watch you and I...
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broken wings
The world is made of broken wings, dead birds and ruined angels. Rain spatters the afternoon, fog seeps through the morning. The sun shows up when it feels like it. Feathers shining like fresh ink, littering the wet green field. Flight only the measure of those who have fallen. Heaven mostly a story about finding a way back down.
The crow in the...
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The world is made of broken wings, dead birds and ruined angels. Rain spatters the afternoon, fog seeps through the morning. The sun shows up when it feels like it. Feathers shining like fresh ink, littering the wet green field. Flight only the measure of those who have fallen. Heaven mostly a story about finding a way back down.
The crow in the...
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direct pressure
Somehow you are always just down the hall. Walking through the kitchen, feet bare upon the hard cool floor. You are never here, though I always look. Some ghost of hope, scattering winter dust. The touch that still clings, the weight that is still saved. The room is empty, only clotted with mistaken thoughts. The room is that bell that will never be...
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Somehow you are always just down the hall. Walking through the kitchen, feet bare upon the hard cool floor. You are never here, though I always look. Some ghost of hope, scattering winter dust. The touch that still clings, the weight that is still saved. The room is empty, only clotted with mistaken thoughts. The room is that bell that will never be...
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hyperbole
There is nothing left to understand. The fingers slip, the meanings slide, bullets find their destinies seeded in these final contexts. Every appetite written away, every dream and all the rest of sleep just gone. The rites of rage and rictus, the smattering of ashes drifting down like snow. Something happens, then the world is all worn through.
I resurrect you in fingertips, in...
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There is nothing left to understand. The fingers slip, the meanings slide, bullets find their destinies seeded in these final contexts. Every appetite written away, every dream and all the rest of sleep just gone. The rites of rage and rictus, the smattering of ashes drifting down like snow. Something happens, then the world is all worn through.
I resurrect you in fingertips, in...
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ghosts at the wheel
There are the ordinary airs, the sets of spirits, the confessions and endless ruminations. There are the switches and the lights, the keys and the locks, the doors and windows and endless combinations of the opened and the closed. Lists and lamentations, aches and pains and sad songs playing again and again. The words we exchange in reckless incantations. The words...
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There are the ordinary airs, the sets of spirits, the confessions and endless ruminations. There are the switches and the lights, the keys and the locks, the doors and windows and endless combinations of the opened and the closed. Lists and lamentations, aches and pains and sad songs playing again and again. The words we exchange in reckless incantations. The words...
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mitigate
There is that icy blue that arrives with the twilight, huddles in the horizon. That color that clings, bitter to the fingertips, cold to the touch. It lingers long past the dusk, pressing thorns through the delicacy of flesh. It burns well past any ash or ember, nuzzling in the corner where heaven holds court. It shines like the prettiest of teeth, radiates that...
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There is that icy blue that arrives with the twilight, huddles in the horizon. That color that clings, bitter to the fingertips, cold to the touch. It lingers long past the dusk, pressing thorns through the delicacy of flesh. It burns well past any ash or ember, nuzzling in the corner where heaven holds court. It shines like the prettiest of teeth, radiates that...
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estrange
Will that morning ever be here again, warm and slow and shared? This from the first forage for the papers and a glimpse of the sky. All the stars forsaken, all the pavement cold and the color of the fog. Hungry cats and tattered clothes and fingers numb with the chill. This morning by the thousands while that other one is lost to memory...
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Will that morning ever be here again, warm and slow and shared? This from the first forage for the papers and a glimpse of the sky. All the stars forsaken, all the pavement cold and the color of the fog. Hungry cats and tattered clothes and fingers numb with the chill. This morning by the thousands while that other one is lost to memory...
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the distance to dawn
That cold first breath, steaming out the door. That clasp of grays and shadows, that whispered threat of ice. Walking the world before the sun grants any favors to the season. Walking the world so that my feet will feel their way back from the clotted pose of sleep. Soon it will seem that everything has a story. Soon every ache...
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That cold first breath, steaming out the door. That clasp of grays and shadows, that whispered threat of ice. Walking the world before the sun grants any favors to the season. Walking the world so that my feet will feel their way back from the clotted pose of sleep. Soon it will seem that everything has a story. Soon every ache...
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