Windows down driving over the lake the green scent of it languid humidity and the city lights gem-hued, strewn across sky and water, for seventy-thousand seven hundred and ten feet, some peace, spanning the gap, the longest floating bridge in the world, except for hope
This anger would be easier if I was a painter, could spill it out in cadmium red and yellow ochre, let layers build up– . This anger has texture, rough as a raised fist. In solidarity, or to land a blow? I don’t know, it chokes out eloquence. . How could such hate be lauded? Add some cheap gold foil to the composition, scattered senselessly. Rabidly. . A heart is a muscle, it can fail, […]
Powerful, important reading: “They’re trying to take away our culture. They’re trying to take away our history,” A Wake Up Call From a Twitter Thread
I could sleep now in this raft of a bed, or later, or eat an unreasonable dinner, or make something sensible, or wait, getting lost in a book, or a thought, or these small rooms, quieter in your abscence. Another city night, some man sings loudly into the velvety dusk, and it’s not clear whether the high rises are cast in cool blue hues due to this sky or to their glass or if such […]
A magnitude of difference between true totality and ninety-eight percent. Even so, and for only ninety-three, we rushed out after rounds and off the floors and gathered on the roof in scrubs and scrub caps or business casual sharing cheap glasses and cardboard viewers and temporarily forgetting the code just moments earlier— occluded vessels, and an open chest. I didn’t hear them call it, had stared from the corridor at the vacant face, unsure, but […]
Not imperceptibly the days get shorter– slight variance, shade of dawn ochre, another day comes crashing in. I went to the counter-rally pretending to be a photographer, but when the ball blasts went off I just ran without thinking or taking any shots of the bodies hurtling toward me in a haze of chemical dispersal, covered ground without comprehension or feeling, only seconds later realizing what I had and had not done. The days accelerate– […]
That full moon like a brass button studding the night, implying perforation, adeherence, closure. In some places it was occluded, tarnished– but we couldn’t see it from where we sat, adrift in a deep night that fell like a curtain. For every word a third unspoken. That full, full moon and the Earth’s shadow encroaching. The very papable weight of nothing.
Waking with a burning throat it’s the sun that changes not the haze a distinction worth making? Who knows. The sky bright opaque some big eye’s sclera and it doesnt blink
unvoiced words cast as shadows or wilting in the face of the predictable response or echoes of echoes and all this weary smoke settling over the city towers and spires the blood speck sun thirst is nameable but this is not . the cloud distinctly a face suspended over the far valley blowing out a bellicose wind and from the summit we watched smoke churning up like smoke there’s nothing else so plain-spoken yet indirect […]
OPTIONAL POETRY 