Tag: writing
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Forest Within
Big Dreams, paper collage, 2020 neither is real. the nectar or the god the eye that plunges us into the storm like a bunch of savage, lonely children the truth is some miracles are dangerous the totalitarian revolutions of winter whispers and watercolors quaint maiden fields like a prayer for unjustified time or a mending…
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Sunday Morning Nirvana
another day under an unconditioned sun & we drift unthinkable fresh air (rising) invents another sun (not the same) a white wind blows over transitions away from time cold collective mind & the search for rapidly returning present gravity the distance between walking & a string not the same in lavender as in circles (pigments…
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City of Salt
afloat. man and woman unfamiliar in time are lost in the swells of harvest eyes as steady as bulldozers a body within a body (is lighter than you think) mouth cries are murky and euphoric like smoke on glass and two bodies living as a single body are a sea in a city of salt…
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There is no time for bones.
there is no time for bones. changing skins of sex fire and other enlightened things. each springtime, whether to erase time or bare ourselves to the sun. (some people wear out their elbows that way.) mouths like wine and knives in oranges. this is the stuff of naked poetry, sayable for unsayable things. it’s like…
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Essence of Cosmic Poetry
a planet steps into its shadow another dangling by surprise a single thought that precedes thought and is reborn paradise.
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Girl, Fairytale
if tomorrow was fit with fairytales (we would always walk as if on sunshine) lush and ethereal like smoke on water or a skeleton made of fireflies if grace was a body and our bodies were fairytales mammoth-like and wild (eyes are snails bellies full of sand) a thought like a body in a loud…
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Portrait of a Woman, Prehistory
time, lady, is in praise of the idea of time & the surprise of your smile is a wilderness in cruel disguise two hips, wide open to the world, a set of strong hands & thighs are great wobbling moons a sudden & intense warmth at the suggestion of romance like a lover that never…
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Water on Water
to touch the earth is a sensation worth preserving, don’t you think? a central metaphor for all that is holy like the unreality of fire or a meadow full of white moons & even if the forests themselves amounted to nothing but rain, the grainy silhouette of water on water the coarseness of wine or…
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The music at the end of the world is beautiful.
What we know of the end of the world is beautiful. Weightless, even. Mind, media, mixed messages of rebirth and transparent endings. Gods of misfortune. Indecision. (These things exist in the shadows and are nameless.) Mobs, mayhem, sweet monstrosities. Surround the night like armor and are victims of a more perfect future. The stars are…
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Philosophy of Sound
too much of this is thought out loud— what it is to be alive & aiming for the sun like static among trees or continuations of a long-awaited dream beyond mysteries of tidal waves tadpoles silence
The Used Life 