Summer is child-like here; I want to please it. There’s still a chill as the sun pulls back, and somewhere in this house a fly is trapped; every thing drones on. I fall asleep on the couch and wake in sadness; a problem with leaving windows open– who knows what might get in?
This week, this heat has brought out little spiders; strange because they usually come in from the cold, and living near a lake in winter things do come: the rats that nested in the wall for months, growing complacent as my landlord. These spiders aren’t much for huddling, are zebra-striped acrobats abseiling from the ceiling, ready to jump, to hunt. Maybe it’s a subtle predatory bias that led me to trap the rats but let these spiders run free, […]
I’ve just realized — it’s the sound you hear when placing a shell to your ear. Or any similar object, really the rushing tides of blood inside us. There’s the draw;we’re mostly water and it goes where it will.
Some mornings exist in a void, so clear and calm I can hear the morning traffic rushing over the bridge, something like fast water or a sea breeze. What I would not give to see the ocean today. We all have our tides and mine has gone out for far too long. Even the smell of salt would act as balm for this gutting spring tide; uncovering the most confidential of tide pools, the most […]
Lamb, who made you? Heartlessness begets heartlessness– I’m sorry for sticking you with the bill. Even tygers have a conscience,usually pickled in beer, and egged on by the knowing smirks of waiters.
I guess that’s why they call it the blues, piped into the grocery store, a slow-up at the checkstand, I’ll miss my bus for sure. Oh Elton, I don’t really care, wandering the aisles and looking at cereal. The passage of people makes a place feel lonely, grocery stores and airports, especially at odd hours. The linoleum seems sad. I wish it didn’t — but it’s things like this that write the songs, not just […]
The 3 AM bird may not be real; I usually hear it after starting from a dream, this time lightning and thunder, but the brightest I could imagine, the most ear-cracking. I had to get up and walk around the darkened house, half-sure someone had tried to break in. Nothing. I had smelled smoke, saw sparks cascading from the roof before I woke. The 3 AM bird called again, what could it be saying at such […]
And as the sun set, rain from a clear-ish sky, everything softening, on the lake a convoy of geese, lines of goslings; we sat under umbrellas meant for the sun, waited for the rain to ebb; construction workers with headlamps on steered an aluminum boat through the skeleton of pylons; the new bridge half done; I’ll move long before it’s finished. I know nothing is forever. Nothing is forever. Nothing is forever, but sometimes I wish it was.
Don’t comfort me with apples, comfort me with plums; a little softer, a little more bitter this early in the season, a little more easily bruised by careless thumbs.
Way to get back on the horse, she said. With real horses I’ve only been thrown once, then learned how to sit the spooks, stutter -steps and caprices of half-ton beasts. To be fair, I would not canter with a blind spot under my nose, would not risk my delicate bones to rise over a faux brick wall. The worst was Louie, an off-the-track thoroughbred, still youngish, responding to any threat or stress by taking off […]
OPTIONAL POETRY 