September 30
the garage door of the building across the street flies open an anxious eyelid creaking, sleepy the suns sets earlier and earlier these days trail off suggestively this is sharper an intentional silence it says everything it needs to
All posts tagged: creative writing
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
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 10
It is an active quiet low jets in their final approaches cars accelerating all departures the lights in the half-finished tower go out in blocks goodnight, goodnight the muffled bassline of some song in passing the man-made geometries of light against a matte black night no moon, no stars just the bright cascade of glass bottles into the bin behind some bar the city full of emptiness expanding out like a lung
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
July 20
Eight-oh-eight in Encinitas surfers hold their place like knots in a net the chipped tooth moon the boldness of Jupiter night comes humid and velvet and matte the ocean all and always the ocean even upstairs in the small corner room with its small open window even in this heat already half asleep as the train rankles cicadas and the coming dark
July 15
Clearer up North still these birch trees abandon symmetry to grasp at the sun water in the canyon quick with runoff winter’s remainder and that same low angle of sun that makes a forest live but later now these hours stretch open like a safety net
OPTIONAL POETRY 