I am successfully cupping fireflies with my make believe hand.I am admiring the invisible irises I forgot to plant last November.I actually see the tie-dye evolution of autumn leaves for the first time My son said after we left the hospice where my mother would beA ghost before we ever saw her again. A Candy…
Contrails crisscrossing overhead,spreading puff by fading puffinto each instant of the past…dull notes, antiphonal clouds lined outagainst the blue, arpeggiosdown that road as faras we can hope to go… The dishran away with the…
She was the stain in the teacup that spread up toward the handle.She was the handle that snapped off the hairbrush, andShe was the hairbrush he tossed onto the fire, andShe was the fire he carried each day in his pipe. She was the pipe the bath water rode to the river, andShe was the river where they boarded the boat…
That it was fine linen flawlessly stitched, as silken as new skin. That it was the color of ivory or an old book’s pages left blank in the front. In the beginning shape of the letter A, it made a long A sound. With lace. Because she was heard to say it had been passed …
The dome, the mustachelike a circus strongman’s,those shoulders people still climb on.and eyes that hold youin the snow before stackedand battered volumes of mutuallyexclusive systems of belief:UFOs, black magic, MadameBlavatsky’s wisdom receivedat the feet of lamas, whileyours grow cold in the slushy street.His look follows passersbywho, though they can’t identifythe man or recognizethe eyes which…
So many have died,to pick just oneseems willful,unkind, and besidesyou might forgetthe friend you promisednever to forget,so let this be for anyone who diedin this season of death,which from now onwill be full of facescoming forward,smiling from the pagelike the line hastilyformed backstagethat stands beforethe curtain, and bows,then follows its spotinto the shadeof scenery and props.
The other camels hobbled nearby snort and chuff and in general make a lot of noise betwixt them. Though they are called ships of the desert, these camels are nothing like our fishing boats. They are good for milk and their turds are spectacularly fire-worthy. But none of us have yet figured out how to…
…even if all the animals are oracles, I don’t want to have a bee under my pillow, even if it’s just a sign of the druidic image of community, even if it signifies the solar dance of the bee replicating the hive of the many in the streets or the village, signified clairvoyants of ultraviolet…
and I keep in touch with you’re pissing me off you’re pushing my buttonsI’m not interested in rescheduling Listen! Do you hear that? That’s my tongue licking a laceration, a bloody metacarpal, a fracture; that’s my nasal baritone, my UUUUUU unfurling your foothold. Wolves keep in touch, and I with my keen sense sense extirpation…
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