Category Archives: Poetry

Ow, She Said. And Wow.

She stared at the solitary gull perched on a craggy rock. The sea, like undulating slates of purplish steel, or bruised rust, while a glaring wound of a sunset poured scarlet ribbons from its Martian gash. The gull flies away, … Continue reading

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D’Arc Night of the Soul

(For All Hallow’s eve, a “witch’s” tale) Enlightened, perhaps. God-engorged hormones, maybe. Regardless of why, Joan, you were the rebel prototype long before James Dean zipped up a red jacket, or Marlon Brando mumbled and curled his upper lip into … Continue reading

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Night at the Opera

At first there was darkness, and there had always been darkness. Then the stars turned on. And music played, as if silky notes drifting through a night-cloth dome of windows, and in this way wonder entered the scene. Wonder mated … Continue reading

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From the Sorcerer’s Handbook

Do not explain music Do not explain dreams the elusive penetrates everything You must know that everything rhymes —Wols   There is something deeply comforting about this, deeply reassuring. Everything rhymes. A universe of correspondences, of sequential richness, metaphysical jazz. … Continue reading

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October’s Bones

In honor of the 50th anniversary of Jack Kerouac’s “death-day” departure for roads unknown. When I was a young man, a budding scribe eager to blossom white fire, and scabbed lotuses, you meant the world to me. You exposed me … Continue reading

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Free Play

We live in a world of alchemy and swing, a freeform board game for sounding and experiment, and anyone that tells you any different has simply forgotten how to engage the play of their lives, or sow the grit, resin … Continue reading

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Homing Device

The soul doesn’t calculate, it syncs itself to the legend of its origins, the glyphic runes and white-hot bones of constellational remains, where we, in costumed exile, linger and tow the fasting freight of dreams, upon which our lives are … Continue reading

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Raspberries

  Mariko knew a lot of interesting things about space. For example: astronomers theorized that, based on its chemical make-up, the dust from the nebula that gave birth to our sun would taste like raspberries. And that the closer you … Continue reading

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Growing Legend

Metamorphosis makes demands on us all, and imposes its necessary will, but love, rooted in omnipresence, is not subject to change. It is a legend, limitless in freight and scope, and famous for its radiant center.

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Autumn Leaves

Grieving, the swoonlit swans, crying last songs softly into autumn’s russet and moonfed belly.

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