Category: North America
Bird says, “set the coffee here, please and oranges if you have them.” Between green wings, that of a bamboo shoot so light green it’s almost wilting, Bird grasps the white ceramic handle and lifts the mug to his beak. From his high perch
I sit in my ribbed backed chair and bow towards Autumn— springtime blending in with the leaves of winter & summer shooting arrows into the black-backed brigade I wonder at the weather these days taught and tense in the morning & easy, nearly sweeping, in the morrow my own marrow sucked by the cascade winds that ravage the lonely landscape looking west for … Read More Pacific
The fist comes down upon the table and the scatting, echoing, marauding clang bumps and lurches about the steel room— the table holds, tho’ it’d rather sink to the knees, and the mice feel small amid the balloon. I take my time and draw in a breath— & before the intake reaches the zenith the fist comes down again on the table—
Key: x = Donald Drumpf y = voters z = state o = Republicans b = women Render the verdict on x. Y come together to come apart at the nation’s seams, rippling constantly a fool’s errand elongated across a sea of z’s, all in it to win it. O hold the whip against the non- whites, the non-brights, the non-O really, including … Read More Calculus
The sun plays on the fronds of the ferns, the ones which frame the courtyard in dappled glitters of sweet breeze through palm. Light dribbles lucidly across the cobblestones, a symphony of pigeon toes scuttling across stones with nails like safety pins. The barista has her fingers twisting through her hair and sex on the mind.
Once here, I let out a long breath ; the sound thuds dully against the window pane which streams in sunlight from a morning mister. The sound from my breath outweighs the sounds of diggers and cranes from the site on the other side of Seaside Avenue.
I keep my eyes open when I look at you. Your lips read: espresso for here, please & my fingertips tap against the plastic screen & I slide it to you with my eyes open. You criss-cross your skin, diagramming the name you’ve owned for years, & before you leave for the corner table, you reach deep into your pockets. I’ve met you before– … Read More Visions
Praise be the autonomous who sit, crumped upright in a land of red Mountains. The ones who eat, food dripping from loose corners, at a table of stone, who lay, facedown on beds of Earth shards, listening hard for the rare sound