Category: Artwork

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From the Lagoon

Here is the Sea the white tips of cresting horses the flush of Springtime goatfishcharming the mirror between life and depth. 

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Fresh Air

The brain — beholding itself brashly with chords of wrought-iron wrinkles — quietly slips underneaththe sheets, far enough under to savor flavors of cottony cool. Growing quiet, it lingers  in silence; the wash of fresh nothing permeatesthe underside of the cotton sheet. Light breeze sweepsagainst brain, cool and sweet, gentle coursing of blood flowing, symbiosis. Big breath — if brains could breathe — 

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Sonnet for the Times

Underwater my limbs waver in front of me — gently, muscularly, I exhaust the oceanscrubbing raw against the salt flakes, crystal abovethe bleached coral. Clinical cleanliness, writing before you read, style, speaking before you think. Mercy plays in opposites:  monk seals recliningdecked out in caution tape; whole beaches receding and the distance between the islands increasing. 

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We Are Over Everything

Over the moon, to start with. Now over the ghastly spoiled milkover the howling bitter stormsover nothing. But over you. 

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Life in a Vacuum

Were the days but an inch longer,I could have said all I wanted& reached the sun by now. Instead,I grope for the light switch – clampingmy eyes when it comes on. Blinded!Always blinded – like frogs in thehot desert, crashing through coarse sandhalf-way rustic and rightly stunned.Checkmarks pierce my paper soul andyet not fast enough for cruel pen. Boxes futile, ever growingoutweigh my sense of … Read More Life in a Vacuum

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This is a Dream I Tell No One

Parched. Parched like the texture of Egyptian papyrus the holy lands scribbling away at my bottom lip. I am abandoned. Have been. That is, not in some measureto deserve attention, but in the manner of being completely free. That within me which soothes the aching self flies and joins her soul to willow, one city park over. My grunting aches fire out, eventuallyno longer gasping for attention, no longer … Read More This is a Dream I Tell No One

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Fishers of Men

Damn that which holds itself accountable in my error— if I could escape I’dsing, freely sing, but alas can’t. Rarely does time tick for me. Low saxophone wailsfrom the wine cellars, the unzipped tent inthe meadow wet with evening dew. Tripped upand spit out, floundering like a struck fishunder Dunedin flashlight. I am Plathwithout the oven. The bread I bake looksback at me, eyes of mirrors, … Read More Fishers of Men

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Sobriety

The world in thumbnail fashion hanging limply from the window curtaincontaining only impervious snickers and holding a big belly full of laugh. 

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Pacific Call to Prayer

I have found the reason for living  in a town like this, our doorstep perpetually  dusted with buttery sand and mountain leaves brought in by a single sweep from the balcony. The sweet sea air circles the windows  like a cat with her mouse or the roach  with his drain. Curiosity comes and goes. Frolicsome play at one with it all. A fine day, with rooster … Read More Pacific Call to Prayer

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Cycles

Try harder, little moon. The world is a pearl 

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From the Lanai

The cloaked mountains make my breath smile easing up against my eyebrows like a wiggly exclamation mark caught up in chimney smoke destined for the highlands. I forget to breathe. The moon wears her silk gown this afternoon trailing the sky like jet stream; women whisper after her wherever she goes. Men trace the edgesand those in between wear for themselves the splendor. Spectacular, truly, the vines caught swift amongstthe bird … Read More From the Lanai

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Sunflower Sutra

Bonding like rose glue, like snagging a glass of water before it leaps to its death the still small rise of the holding hands movement. One smileis a thousand muscles; one living being the seed from a thousand trees. We were domesticated late. Some say not at all. But I think they are wrong — I see a dependency too great for the swift ocean floss that curls around bare … Read More Sunflower Sutra