Tag: writing
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The Eventuality of Letters (Lovers)
the light is arranged the wood is wrapped in salt i listen for the moon, keep time in a telephone booth a flower undoes itself a goldfish is dust in a field i close my eyes rekindle the sounds of oceans i am as ancient as these hips suspended between the source of life and…
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A bluebird is a sonata.
a bluebird is a sonata seems to say life is its own reason for living the pitcher on the table is filled with wine slabs of pomegranate shore salted over and over again eaten like warm fruit
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The bicycle spins madly on.
(a new poem with a previous ending) never fear the end there’s no way you were ever here, anyway a bicycle in a galaxy a palm tree lost in orbit an old man sees himself in a faraway mirror there’s no here so nothing matters says prayers plants flowers on the moon weeps for a…
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At Eleven, My Lover’s a Moon
how much is too much? the anatomy of a driving car a mandolin with no rain at eleven, my lover’s a moon his favorite t-shirt’s yellow he spills coffee on the eggshells of the great cosmic mystery this might not sound significant but it could be if pigeons were paragons of infinite sadness if rainbows…
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Coda, Or the Curious Octaves of Lily Pads
they say the hour of the elephant has ended the curious octaves of lily pads are asleep on the beds of imaginary rivers (mellow, green, with lofty perfumes of herbs and fresh candlelight) i hope you’ve enjoyed this time between planets the sacred meditations of snails philosophers retro-emotional sunflowers …breathing in space breathing out bouquets…
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Hands on the Ocean
we are responsible for the obsolete it’s in everything, after all. time, dust shifting unawareness a drop of rain or a hand on the ocean how cosmic, how quaint what else but marigold fields? what else but the record of a hummingbird symphony? where were you when they whitewashed the moon gave paradise an old…
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Undefined Lives of Trees
this is the best you’re expecting; a sky to enlarge the gloom, a spoon to tell you the meadow is impossible; well, i’m here to tell youto shine, to not shine, to make oars of our legsis to violate the most sacred arrangements to agitate the sands precisely when there is no sand at all;…
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Fragile Oasis
freedom is circling on a bicycle where days end and the revolutions of pine cones remind us of what might have been dialectics of butterflies riverboats resting in quiet fulfillment to the birds: keep going to the grasshoppers: the parable remains the same what music walks for the monologues of rose petals or the hearts…
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This Blank Music
“It is wrong to assume that art needs the spectator in order to be. The film runs on without any eyes. The spectator cannot exist without it. It insures his existence.” – Jim Morrison a spectator, in forty dreams travels, reviles destiny intimates the dead. his eyes are absent & peopled with their own white-hot…
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Notes on Living Poetry
this world is unfinished. we all know that. the habitats of strangers are reckless alphabets through a small hole, i can see their deserted backyards. a boy hurls a prairie into space, listens to Neil Young and cultivates a soul of leather puffs his chest everlastingly …better to be mellow and out of touch says…
The Used Life 