I still rather like this one; Probably could use more editing, but that's generally the case. In places more frequented by stars Night is a vast and velvet thing- An arcing mass, abyss from which the wisps of dreams are rent or born — to which their unreckoned ellipses return at first light or break of… Continue reading An old bit of writing, again.
Tag: poetry
Been awhile.
From January; a trip to Baltimore. (BUS POETRY!) Through the bus window, out of New York. Barren scores of urban cliffs— cloaked in winter trees (their unexpected softness, out-of-focus)— look like lost castles through spectacles designed for looking at things close-to. Dried drops on the wide panes from another rain lend the highway a cold… Continue reading Been awhile.
Airy. empty, open
Reading poems from Sweden on the train the in early dark. My umbrella on the seat beside me– orphaned at the transfer. Here are some of the words, lines like self-sharpening tools: Passing through walls hurts human beings, they get sick from it, but we have no choice. It's all one world. Now to… Continue reading Airy. empty, open
prosaic
1. characteristic of prose as distinguished from poetry 2. everyday, ordinary A combination of the two might comprise a life without poetry. Not in the sense of poems in books, you know, but poetry in the larger sense– the poetry of dreams, of big ideas and grand plans; of believing in something, of following one's… Continue reading prosaic
bits
Nothing important, just a couple of bits from text interchanges: "Winter grows tooth-long, and its welcome wanes." "Life goes through a frustrating phase, perhaps [inspired by, or] in concert with the moon's hiding, All tries to escape reason." An older bit: "Subatomic particles will not be shouted at!"
missing
Daydreams of the spires of Prague and other old world cities; Red rooftops; Street lamps with foreign shapes. Unfamiliar syllables and sinistra in the sottopassaggio! Winding streets that lead somewhere I've never been. I'm missing Europe, and autumn will not likely send a return ticket this year. - - - Everyone I know seems to… Continue reading missing
of summer, and of night
Here is something I found while rummaging through digital files of words, a collection covering several years. Something from the heat of a summer I think. dense-packed places In places more frequented by stars Night is a vast and velvet thing- An arcing mass, abyss from which the wisps of dreams are rent or born… Continue reading of summer, and of night
bits
Untangled, hanging at the nape of a season’s last memory. The pages hereafter are blank. (my etruscan exit sign was inspired by your existential trash can.) and my fork haiku: sterling tines reflect light from faraway systems tiny solar flare
a sunday evening
kevo, trey and i at the jackalope, sxsw I recently read an article on Salon about "celebrity bloggers," some of whose blogs I had seen, some not. It was an interesting article with some good (and horrifying) links. It isn't actually relevant here, other than it got me thinking about the form anew. I have… Continue reading a sunday evening
e daggar art: THE MUSEUM 