June 28
it’s a bitter root that twists deep into the dirt the dark gestalt of things unspoken and so retained rehearsed in lonely moments
Month: June 2019
June 27
was it the sparseness offset by silence or the roundness of the number eclipsing the rest days, days, the lack of antacedence how do I begin to formulate a response it’s unsettled here dry when it should be raining charged with anticipation a bee came in the open window and then left nothing happens of course I doubt your fortuity
June 26
it’s still light out early to bed a headache all day dull creeping thing– absence too spatial, temporal the gingko trees or the sky in between I take it back though there is no void nothing is relentlessly a thing the streetlight comes on a breeze stirs the leaves thunderstorms tomorrow no reprieve
June 23
and then summer turned back into itself gray with cool rain and mist in the foothills violet arcs in the talus field foxgloves laden with water and the falls falling audibly again were it so simple fashioning a retreat unease even here nothing quite dampens it
June 20
surprising, the sun today surprising, the sunset dramatic on the rooftop suffused, cinematic and people being kind genuinely good it makes the worse worse the same way presence augments absence the news is so bad the night so beautiful long long notes from bitter -plucked strings
June 19
more sudden rain from the rooftop a news ticker wraps around high across the alley disembodied letters top headlines, this city turning into glass– impermeable, deflective burying the lede, ample precedent here– furniture in the basement of the Panama Hotel under decades of dust left hastily and never retrieved a drawer left open a child’s homework– internment camps extant, planned reopenings and someone arguing in bad faith– semantics willful callowness a cage is a cage […]
June 17
Escape to the mountains to see what endures– the sun-baked alpine packed dirt and scree fiery wildflowers strange butterflies warming afternoons a rock comes loose– quiet more profound after its absence tread lightly almost as if trespassing on scalloped snowfields glaciers, blue-hued, nearly holy– if they won’t last what could?
OPTIONAL POETRY 