Voyages of a footfall in late November in the woods west of Kansas City. Boot treadthe color of faded apple dust, scenting like a coon hound the wizened mushroom stumps of a wild summer. I’m not quite surewhere I am, until I reach the pond — then my black gloved hands gently nursea calm hello to the bark of the dogwoods that line the scummy lagoon like sentries. In the … Read More Voyages of a Footfall
Look out the window sometime; with the bold winds dancing throughthe Banyan trees it’s pretty in a lanced way, a little bodega in the neighborhood-way. From the balcony, I can hear gentle laughter of soccer boys and soccer girls kicking dogwood trees instead of soccer balls. Damn, if it doesn’t get me every time. If I were older, I would have fled the sceneand left the dimes and dollars for a … Read More Balanced
Tough. (I don’t feel tough though, my tongue is on the gritty floor and covered in dirt anddebris from a weekend of debauchery. I don’t feel anything other than tired.) I’m told the blue jays mate even when they’re dying, as if evolution could not hold a reverent bow for the last breath of an angry bird. Supposedly that attitude was in the contract I signed a year ago, though the … Read More Blue Jays
Here I am, an old woman in the hooded doorway of a young woman’s life the twist of my hand like a spent willow from a distance a sapling unbentthe nature of the willow. I have lost objectivism. Why should I keep it? What good has my rooting in the ashes donebut smear the blackened ink against the window-pane like an early frost. My doorway is wide. I can see the … Read More The Idea of Order
Regard the sun. She winks with lashes tall as liesshe smooths the edges of her liquidgrin and calls the birds to flight before my eyes. Can but even one crab make it across the black lava rock before the tide folds itself once more upon the shore? I would extend my stick to him if I could, but my hands dissolveagainst the wood and I come to rest. Three o’clock. Ticking. Ticking. … Read More A Net to Snare the Sunlight
The willow won’t swaythe sage won’t scent the goldfinch won’t nest the life vest will not inflate the eyes won’t widen the sun won’t care the ink won’t flow the war-lords will not congregatethe clouds won’t lift the swans shall stay put endlessly the sea to be a never-ending barren witlessness& the darkness never felt The tongue is a dream.Nothings happens unless first a dream.