Dance dark against the moonlight shadows; the dust will take you deeper– digging down to shaded levels of acrid denial tasting like dental floss. Dance light upon the meadow tresses; the sunbeam spotlights like braided rope. Fading numbness from the fingers out and suffice to say– the world takes hold.
You could go sterile on a seat like that, he told me, jiggling one dusty finger at the black cheek-shaped seat of my bicycle, which rested with me against the cafe umbrella stand. I didn’t quite follow his reasoning— which he gave in file-folder eruptions of statistics and news articles clear from the research department of his mind.
All this fuzziness astounds me ; warmed up from the soul and told (under no uncertain terms) we’re destined to die the martyr in due course. But not now—perhaps. At least until the sun goes down and the ants cease their ant-nibbles and the cricket boys back go to bed.
One: I am grateful for the sand between my toes, that finds me in the coziest of places, that works away and makes me softer. That reminds me I live near the ocean. Two: I am grateful for the lithe sleek bicycle I pedal down University avenue until I can’t pump hard enough and must let gravity take me. Three: I am grateful … Read More 5-Step Process to Get What You Want Out of Life
If the hair on your head heightens and heightens, enlarging like the alarmed housecat frazzled by herself– and if the clouds that swim between the curling ferns of our sister, Mountain, swimming like ancient phantom-mermaids, reach toward us– and if the lizards, brown and green, with knowing grins and lithe bodies, dart and scale the box air conditioner that bulges from outside the … Read More Non-Complexity
What I yearn for—like you—is a just a notch of catastrophe. Rising up from the soul like pewter rainbows, swimming golden lead, funny and relevant all at the same time—catastrophe. Secret substance of hope, infectious balance; if nothing’s broken it’s all boring. Boredom is safe, too secure. Too responsible. So predictable. Left handle of balance, tipped so easily in this modern day of … Read More Credo
She took her bow low and sweeping, languidly squalid, barely breathing penned up in honey and exhaust she caught their fumes with her soiled mattress. Trade winds swept up the dust that lingered in street corners; I biked past seeing the drafts crown her brow.