the rain eased up the cold persisted holiday evenings and not enough chairs hey so when are you…? a battery of questions some blunted by the years some softer, owing to wisdom, knowing what not knowing for years means a bridge washed out a road not finished even yes can mean no when prized out like a stuck door unburdened by solace by desire it isn’t speakable so just smile too widely turn one’s attention […]
If not resentment what then? Tomorrow a sulking rain. Even without an action premonition of motion premeditated carelessness a glance might linger or it might be furtive but like a glancing blow it also lands
Stilled, the chills sets in in fingers and toes and heels– still, it seems easier to stay in so many ways, yes, facile– but the sky is cloudy and the moon is half full, what blame is there really? No long shadows here, regret like one too many, only one, so easily walked back and the sun tomorrow outside this window is such a ridiculous shade of gold– generosity, magnimosity, can’t look right at it, […]
a game, to step around the fallen leaves, to not disturb the early hours you can’t not face it properly cold out now and it isn’t a coincidence if there’s a causal link what comes next is mostly predictable
Nightime and raining in Akihabara screens shout at nobody in particular and songs play on in endless short loops, Yodobashi, yodobashi, even here up seven floors in a narrow corridor stacked with bins of diodes, capacitors, secret parts foreign as the writing on the wall– signs here have no meaning for us– we enter if the door is open, and stare, entranced, as small things start to move, or dance, or wait for us to […]
It’s sunny in the mountains but it isn’t sunny here fog expands, descends bright with day but clinical, sterile silence like a tumor excised or silence like the scalpel– malignant and precise– the skyscrapers disappear into the white inversion, soundlessly no breath of wind the gingko leaves a thousand stilled tongues
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
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
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?
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
OPTIONAL POETRY 