Looking for something else I found an old photo— What a trick it would be to slip back into life, especially my own. . Oh that a want would just come when called, like an obedient dog, not some senile, pissy cat. . Or was it I was meant to sit and stay? The whole time I thought I was out there taming things. . This air is just too stale for remembering— the sky […]
A dream before sleep or a lapse in place, Venice, the path to the piazza, under our feet a watery moon, we were lost but didn’t care, we had no place to be, and all the gondolas were moored, only now does that seem prescient.
Think of a cardinal and I think of snow the natural background for that berry of a bird on a card you gave me once that you pasted in a book so what if it was summer when we watched one one last time the leather on the chair was cracked it was auburn it was orange it was afternoon and memories are nothing more than fabrications built to furnish emptying rooms and there must […]
A river coursing in the street, the sky a strange yellow above the newly mangroved lawn, and inside it’s still a bottle of yawns; it sure gets boring inside this Ark.
First rain, then wind later, this front moves through mechanically, going through motions with little soul, the dog can’t even bring herself to bark in alarm. Instead we sleep away the dead days, and waking, are called back, the sound of a broken bough falling is pillowy, landing, it comes to rest, comes to rest.
I am starting to understand this need for jargon, how to hold on to our humanity we simplify others’ noting agonal breathing not drowning on dry land. Kindness? You could argue it either way, and what’s the point? I just noticed you can see the whole stadium from the parking lot, a clear view of green serene lanes of turf– that’ll be nice come summer.
[DNR/DNI] It rained tonight, really rained, for the first time this year– I wonder if you were still around to see it. On the floor it’s always endings or the beginning of ends and there’s two ways you can go out that door and I’d call either of them leaving.
[Honesty] We regret that nothing good can follow these two words.
Still writing December this new month left me behind, already and the night now hesitates to come and cover my confusion and twilight is the exact shade of go out and go by like everything else so fast it feels slow in that way a crash does.
A mouse in the wall. Why write at all? These are hidden sorts of noise. . And you can fill a hole but not a distance. . I’m trying not to try.
OPTIONAL POETRY 