The cluttered room is lit from a single lamp, the bare bulb blindingly brilliant and still not enough, an oscillating fan rattling back and forth as it bandies the air about. Music trills and grumbles from my phone, lapsed atmospherics and worn out club anthems. Songs that mean nothing to me and little to anyone else, part of the dull accumulations of my dotage. An...
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By the late afternoon it is all wind riders, the assembly of sparrows sorting out their urgencies as the band of crows begins to roll up for the day, the bright blues and the ceaseless breeze keeping time with the sun and sky. A pair of nuthatches flit up the front yard tree, clambering up the sweep away limbs chittering about their beat. Swallows work...
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What use is it to face the west while the sun still saunters off, oblivious to friend or foe? Why stare towards the livid horizon with the day in fresh denial? It is hours before the dusk and no direction loves me any longer. The winds whip and chill, making me think how lucky I am I’m not smoking, and instantly making me crave a...
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The eyes in the shadows, staring at the tree whipped sky. The mind a couple of bridges away. The song sways low and gutters the gravel, the wind saying “whoosh” now and again, the onomatopoeia unsettling to say the least. Sometimes they don’t even try to hide it, mix the palette with the made up parts, the thinking fixed to the frame. Voices carry whenever...
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A styrofoam cup without a bottom tumbleweeds down the street, dragged in the wake of passing traffic and blown by the fickle winds. Crows crown the yard trees and the undecided atmosphere trades in huff and gust, hints of stolid humidity with a washed out overcast sky and breezes of varying directions and alignments. I sit on the porch, a singular pestilence, a lingering extinction....
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The list is long and sad and full of skies and blues, the tension between the stretch of light and the reach of shadow, simple repetitions and well placed cravings. The depth of heavens and the thick of the atmosphere, the day while the world crunches the numbers and grinds its gears. Deep breaths and the press of devout flesh, the fireworks busting out in...
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If only I could settle for the signs. Six swallows knotted in pirouettes rise and fall as the sun breaks character, I think of Hamlet but skip the yipyap. A little sunburnt, a little played out, a wasp nest in my car. Smoke coils and strays, taking up with the wind and its upstart agenda. Huddled beneath the eaves of dusk and the lullaby blue...
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We bump and scuff about inside the dregs of the sky, transforming leaf and limb and light into us, we rot and bleed and evacuate into the rest. Its quite a procedure we’re caught up in, plopping out of the unsettled earth into our clothes and words and structures, unshakable in our convictions, nostalgic for our acquittals. We dress our elders up as gods and...
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I don’t quite know how to navigate above or below, however I am unfolded I do not reach the sun. The day is not my element and the night is not my friend, the words strung from end to end without blood or breath to carry them. Scratches on the asylum walls, petitions from prisons left awaiting dust, the tracks left before the magma made...
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The sun comes out though the heart’s occluded, it shines and blazes and barely touches the mouldering bones and the desiccated flesh that it beats so readily and burns so quickly. Breath labors while the hammer beats out despite the failings of the revenant, the swaying of the tree tops, the sweep of the brushed out blue. The yard ebbs and flows, cats and dogs,...
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