Monthly Archives: November 2017

Night Gallery

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What Leaves May Come

Dance of the Shadow Leaves, a Triptych.

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Drum

Drum over me God, I am water under the bridge, threaded with silk and sewn with bones flowing, undammed, into the percussive folds of a liquid body, my name and past ceded to babbles of foam upon a colossal, quivering … Continue reading

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Solitude #43

In my solitude, I have found myself wanting to shrink even further, into a speck of light, like lint from a star’s navel, or a velvety swath of dark absented from its tailored source;  in my solitude, I long to … Continue reading

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Burn

The out of womb blues, torch song on code red alert– Slow burning for home.

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Baby Romantics

Baby Byron didn’t yet have language, so he twisted and contorted his face into a mask, a distressed aria sounding his discomfort. That it was existential, and not hunger, thirst, tiredness, or physical pain, meant nothing to him. Without language … Continue reading

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Dive

Writer’s deep sea task, how to breathe underwater– Air of faith, no mask.

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Cherish

Blossom, hue of vetted contradiction, between cherish and fade– Hours, like thorns, slow burn to chasten.

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Many Ghosts

Many people in my life have been consumed by fiction. Fiction is a monster. Fiction is a glutton. Like ego, like an insatiable wrath, it never gets enough, is never satisfied. Fiction has consumed and absorbed many people in my … Continue reading

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Josef Sudek

It was his mantra– Hurry slowly, syllables resigned to vigil.

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