July 18
The body fails in predictable ways but sometimes I am still surprised when someone is and then is not
All posts tagged: writing
June 11
// Berceuse // The small dog got her hackles up before the owl lit on the roof a small soft sound like a slide of dirt outside in the open stretch of night its compatriot hoo-ed and we argued over stars this is arcturus or is it mars? I was wrong; dry air, water in my eyes, the largesse of sky cradled in these dry grass hills– the town, the hour, everything stilled, even the tumult […]
June 9
We all gathered around the prints: Somewhere in the Vollard suite a girl leads a minotaur through the night after a maze of loops and airy ateliers the effect is stark– the stars are gouged out the faces lit by some internal source. It notes he is blind. The aquatint is Rembrant-black the curator said, an opaque way to state more than, I think– a night that dark is felt, not seen.
June 8
A late-night musing on microbiology, weariness, to be careful with strengths that can be turned against us. I feel not unlike a rusty spring, wound up, stretched out, prone to snap. And although not a source of tetanus, I do take note of how something innocous can easily innoculate us, can cause a body to break itself.
June 7
A drowsy thought, how the name sounds like a plucked string, Kyoto– I’ve never been, but have read some Basho– his sad bird calling, air that cracks. Another one of these! Too tired to rest, this less a dream of a place and more a dream of dreaming, of foreign concepts– laquered maples, bamboo groves, and sleeping
June 6
A closed door with a cart outside, coffee service with paper cups, three small apples in a plastic bowl with plastic wrap across the top— a bereavement tray, nothing more to be done. This is the work. Sometimes I get a small, ripe grief lodged in the back of my throat, taut as a grape skin. And what for? I only know that you were. I can’t say any more.
June 5
This is some sort of state change, not sure exactly— am I a vacuum, or do I feel entropy? Sloughing away on a molecular level. Or do I feel spacious, expansive, empty? There’s no panacea for converting to vapor– when the night cools off I’ll just collect on the walls.
June 2
I got on the wrong bridge and had to leave town. True story, and more to read there than these dreams– deep water, still water, such a dumb expanse today, a blue stilled tongue, but for what cause? There’s the unease, as cars spill like beads across these spans– to regret is to be on the wrong side of something. Even sleeping now I am chasing it– What? I don’t know. Only that I’ve missed […]
June 1
Sun giving way to gray heat, stagnant, a bird singing out the same insistent song. I said my same greetings and goodbyes as everday, in my usual way, but only just now noticing the sameness– how else to say it? The air is too thin today for a thing to be beautiful.
May 26
Another glass night no purchase no bas relief of dreams impermeable or fragmented which is worse the presence of an edge or its absolute abscence an ocean without its shore
OPTIONAL POETRY 