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Un-Ring in the New Year With Sir
Ring in the New Year, you say? More like UN-Ring in the New Year… What’s my New Year’s resolution this year, you ask? To lose this parasitic clicking proboscis snapping in my face… She’s at it again…...
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The Swamp May Claim My Body One Day…
The Swamp may one day claim my body. This past weekend I was found sinking into the muck, yet again. I never mean to deviate out into those gurgling and gushing, reedy and thrillingly mucid marshlands...
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Upon a Bed of Sugared Sands
Ramble on the shore Trundling through icy sea-lace Churlish waves hissing Grey ocean mutters Skimmers rise in a black plume Through a scrape of rain A severed wing rests On a bed of sugared sands- Moon...
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“Youth is Happy Because…”
Where raindrop shadows spill On a bed of rusting leaves- A Caterpillar sleeps With lemon dreams “Youth is happy because it has the capacity to see beauty. Anyone who keeps the ability to see beauty...
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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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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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How I Wish There was No End to Rain
I loomed beneath a dark feathering of sea-oats, pointed tips glazed with recent rain. I listened to the subdued murmur of little waves. The fetid and russet beds of sea-wrack had been washed away,...
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“To The Artist There is Never Anything Ugly…”
“If reality fails to fill us with wonder, it is because we have fallen into the habit of seeing it as ordinary.” – Brassaï “Even the most miserable life is better than a sheltered existence in an...
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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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The Potency of Words- A Conversation With a Young Scientist in a Spring
I am not a conversationalist. I go through life as monosyllabic as possible. I greatly prefer to listen. I lead a mostly silent existence. Just the way I like it. Mute and demure. Ages ago, when I...
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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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Every Crushing Step
A humble path, furry with emerald moss and splashed in blue shadow. A shiny-backed beetle suns himself on a cold molar-sized stone, then shuffles off into a copper sea of leaves. So many roving feet...
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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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A Kind of Peace in Drowning
As a child, I was a barbed thing. I exhaled cold, hard Octobers and relished the stolid, 9-month rain. My mind fogged over thoughts of what-was-before-birth as my bleeding fingers dug for skeletons...
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“To The Artist There is Never Anything Ugly…”
“If reality fails to fill us with wonder, it is because we have fallen into the habit of seeing it as ordinary.” – Brassaï “Even the most miserable life is better than a sheltered existence in an...
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