September 28
At first the quiet like a balm the calm eye of a storm but it, too, turns evenings like cupped palms all that they might hold what prescribes dread instead of hope it gets darker earlier turning in this cave of a world and still no word
All posts tagged: art
September 27
the thing about truth is something is or is not it rained then stopped no amount of shouting will change it interrupted it begins again it floats better than hope and other feathered things like ducks with their distinctive ambulatory style and vocalizations
September 24
like low tide but lower like after the sun sets still light but transient block print birds flying south loss indelible and loss suggested
September 19
lost a bit too easy to float in a darkened room eyes adjusting static, snow falling on the ceiling there are so many tones of silence this one aches hollow as a bird bone this down comforter is heavier it’s the air trapped between feathers that warms flight light but more parachute or net for falling upwards?
September 4
Normal order Common decencey nouns that lean heavily on their moderators an unfortunate depenency civility servility still a distinction still at long last sir at long last or I guess not
September 1
The sky now the correct gray– sea-derived, the summer’s fires gone out, the focus turning slowly inward, like a tide returning, an impartial action, attribute to it whatever you’d like, it won’t attach and it won’t last and that is some sort of beautiful– every night a blank page. The gingko starts to shiver
August 19
the sun pale milky a dead fish eye obscene sclera the sky wan as weak excuses empty platitudes mornings start out tired and degrade from there this pastel more opaque than you’d think displacement of clarity can’t see known things all day a grainy sad sunset sore-throated atonement the wind made corporeal and punishing
August 11
Even the question marks start to look like contour lines— how good are you with a compass and map? Just when can you call a place familiar? Does your stomach also drop when you step off the trail and make your own alone across faceless rocks? Not in fear per se more weightlessness in walking away from the final constraint and either way is that choice still immediate or is it blunted by practice? And […]
August 8
The sun becomes a scarlet wafer just before it dips into the lake and starts to dissolve and stars shine through the theadbare night one unified light made piecemeal too hot to sleep when dreams arive they come on fire from across the water that doesn’t disclose if it is deep or shallow
July 29
at the sharp end of the day, the month, waiting for a return, a word, a small fly traces a halo for my head, the open window drawing no breeze, heat settles heavily, I wave it away absentmindedly, small ripples around a fixed point, barely any light left now, the first stars, always up there, it’s just that night removes that doubt, and instills others
OPTIONAL POETRY 