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Ocean Static Fills My Ears…
Sibilant words Lumber off the sea Ocean static Fills my ears The dunes shrug Cicadas throbbing The scent of distant rain Hanging in a hammock Of gauzy wind Fingers probe Like crab claws In cold-packed...
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“Every Sin is an Attempt to Fly…”
“Light thinks it travels faster than anything but it is wrong. No matter how fast light travels, it finds the darkness has always gotten there first, and is waiting for it.” – Yousuf Karsh “Night does...
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Sometimes, Silence is Reckless…
(Some experimental refractions. Thank you for drizzling by.) The clattering waves. The intractable sky. Mute again, with gloomy grey eyes. A bit of bone cuts into my thumb. A touch of wind whispers...
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Fade to Grain…
Olitory rain; a rain-forest in the kitchen, again. Time for a change. Time for an adventure. Time to let the ceiling-cascade water the counter-top-basil-and-sage. Time to escape. “Time runs along a...
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Another Twilight Hanging
I saw a coyote last night. There was a tattered hole in his left ear. I almost missed him, perched there on the porous sidewalk, his lemon eyes glazed in the orange glow of the streetlight, his...
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Spotted Only with a Magnifying Glass
She is spotted only with a magnifying glass, an animalcule with limescaled wings And a dusky face. Clinging to a breathing blade of dancing chloroplasts, she sees the fractals flash in a fury of...
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The Vitreous Surface of Grief: And, a Death on Halloween
“Will I always feel this way? So empty, so estranged?” – From the song “Empty” by Ray Lamontagne Shadows spill in green tendrils across oiled waters. I probe the murky, moschate depths with a long,...
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A Brittle Wind…
Burring through scaly leaves Along the deer-stamped path A Brittle Wind begins As cobalt moonbeams Paw through knots Of cowering trees The wind wends Through strange limbs And mutilated hands-...
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Where October Lives…
“October Country . . . that country where it is always turning late in the year. That country where the hills are fog and the rivers are mist; where noons go quickly, dusks and twilights linger, and...
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“As the wet surface extends its clear broth…”
“Ah! the wet surface extends its clear broth! The water fills the prepared beds with pale bottomless gold. The green faded dresses of girls make willows, out of which hop unbridled birds.” – Arthur...
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