reypulque

It takes a moment—

maybe two— mouthed one thousands as

day catches up to the night,

the patched up tongue and

hangdog eaves riddled with

webs and smoke, the incense

without an altar, shoeless

gods and hungry ghosts

eying the lip of the cup.

Dribbling over the rim, beading

down the seeming skins, dribs and

drabs missed by the darting

licks of language, evidence of...
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The words are left to set a spell, heavy in the ephemera, gnawing at the grace. The heart keeps time in wishful thinking, beating back the tide. These glad rags and quick hands only slap boxing the half of it, the rest continuity sacrificed to the mystery. Eyes closed, eyes closed— somehow this has become the road, the figuring on the wrong side of the...
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The day grows old and the gray sets in, the chains of rain and the overcast ocean. I grow old in dull, unwanted moments and phases of the moon. All roads lead to the gallows, all gods are devils in the end. Alibis and excuses to free the beast locked in your heart. Sophistry grinning from your idiot smile, teeth bared in confession of your...
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Again the winds grow cold, again night falls fast. The window open, the lights left off, the day does like it’s going to do. There’s no one loved, there’s no one true. The proselytizing and the platitudes play on, the kingdom of heaven and all these Candide knock offs. You can’t throw a stone without hitting some idiot who knows the secrets of the cosmos....
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Eyes closed, you listen closely to the music ricochets and rebounds off the dim lit walls. Eyes closed, you hear the notes and the ringing of the lights. It’s this narrow walkway, it’s this lifetime of electricity and earth. The places where the spiders gather, the windowsill littered with drowsy flies. The creeping flesh, the assembling dust, the weary years singing out through the joinery...
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All at once it was raining, slow and steady like it was racing a rabbit. Just like that, though the forecast had said Sunday. There’s no accounting for the future— it’s never where you put it and by the time it gets there, it’s gone. You can watch the horizon. You can hold the high ground. Maybe then you’ll see it coming. Maybe then you’ll...
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The day is bright and wild with bluster, a turkey vulture ascends a gust in that Christ on the cross affect, wings in a wide open embrace as it rises. The vulture slips and turns, surfing upon the rush towards balance, the rollick and the effortless glide. The sky is always an act of faith, the sky is a science sliding by. Something to look...
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The speed of light, the thick of dust, and heaven always on the run. This day, the next, the taste of blood and cinders. The folly of the words, the swindle of the soul, belly sick and heart broke and the on and on and on. The blank page drizzled with pigment and sickness, the thought experiment painting the walls. Touch fades, sight blurs, everything...
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It’s there in the clutter, dust and thoughts and unsettled books, memento and fetish and the foolish all but forgotten. The surface tension of this fixed focus, the tangle of mind and meaning, this restless sieve of ash and ember. Maybe it’s somewhere in a notebook from twenty years ago, maybe it’s in the marginalia where there used to be receipts. The same books and...
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We should have agreed on a signal, a safe word phrase or a tug of an ear. We should have hid a key somewhere under a rock, had a meet up plan and an exit strategy. Instead we wandered the world as idle words and ugly appetites, breaking paths like kindling sticks, burning bridges like it was fire season. Our skies were alway stuck in...
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