Behind starry veils, embers crackle blue and gold– You were there, dancing. Advertisements
Dreams washed up on shore, all part of Beauty’s parcel, to move us, then fade.
This is the text which inspired the story I performed in a Story Slam a couple of years back. The theme was “Risk.” Here’s a video clip of the presentation (sorry, it’s sideways, but then again, so am I). One … Continue reading
More erotic dreams about the girl from the sea– Longing, rimmed with salt
My desire to feel God is the same as the child’s dreamlipped desire to kiss the red kite bobbing and arcing far and away tethered to his wrist a wordless prayer given over to wind and sky.
History, written by the wingless, selling secondhand feathers to falsify flight’s truest course; turn a sharp eye to the sun, Birds of Paradise, arc, plein air, to claim in transit the legends of west wind.
For a subliminal time only it’s here Neverland’s lucid New Romanticism replete with pricks, needles and pines bespeaking Pagan Renaissance Nouveau a movement that will start in your vowels and end in your Oh’s especially suggested for those soft in … Continue reading
I have never been to Paris, and so I must write about my time there, how Hemingway threw the gauntlet at my feet and challenged me to an armwrestling match three times, beating me each and every time, and Hemingway … Continue reading
They kill poets in these parts don’t they? When I got here I saw Walt Whitman’s wizened head out back impaled on a stake flies buzzing round its concomitant rot and stench I heard one of the locals say it … Continue reading
