If you found me this evening time (for such it is), you would know things that have been out of your sight. The way that I put on my skin and my bones. How my legs bend after dark. What I do with the possibility of fingers. How my movements compare to yours, since... Continue Reading →
Hah! Squeak now, smelly one! Study me, damn me, with your hatpin eye. Not much can you say. Not much can you hear with your velvet ear. We don't need to "raise the bar" for YOU, do we? As you lie in your hard bed, your crucifixion's a warning- IT'S A TRAP!
Sundown at Nipissing's shoreline, and the big lake begins its freeze. The soft fire of November's embers pleases the eye, but can't warm us. I stand in the cold cold sand that waits for winter's cover, and think of unimportant things: that there will be no more drifting things, maybe until June. And, where do... Continue Reading →
I travel on the sidewalk Slow. Farewell to skipping stairs. The certainties I used to know now catch me unawares. I never had the youngbloods' grin or confidence to spare. At times, I took it on the chin, and found it hard to bear. At night, of late, instead of sleep, I dawdle in the... Continue Reading →
Clarice sees the Sea, breathes its dreams, soaks in its mists by a foggy rock. When all the world's compasses begin to list to her true north, Clarice will speak in tongues, and name the Suns, in legion. Glory will be to the one who is not named, and who was the maker of her... Continue Reading →
Johnny-come-lately, I plant bulbs stupidly in the cooling earth under powder of snow with a straight spade I dig up cake-flaps of sod I disregard directions and just drop them in, the oniony things. This blasted blizzard. I drop to one knee, hard of breathing, hit by BB's of ice
gimme that potato salad with the mustard sauce and the bacon those fried mushrooms with the smell rising mind my big nose pressed flatly against foggy glass approve my flirtatious hands as they make fake feetprints for amusement, in lieu of art, on grey glass in threenight, i will be at this same tall door... Continue Reading →
Boa, Jonathan Kriz, flickr
North Carolina summer night at Mama’s, with Jeff playing with the boa as it arcs and stretches toward the chandelier, the sweet scent of mountain laurel wafting through the window, Jeff and I doubled in fits of laughter, high. Mama turning on the light, glares. Party over.
Sober Second Thought's buckled down, still, on his moldering throne. Wand waving, face saving, keeping the faith. Watching, with detachment, nervous amusement, and what's close to despair, as things begin to twitch and soulless eyes begin their backward roll.