My heart, forever the weeded ace and wandering fool, scored to secret pines, sings of resident gloam pooled in that forest of backlit signs, which grows beyond its clipped horizons to invigorate departures, spurred by the genius of wordless roots. … Continue reading
Between blades and pines, she lay still, spreading forest to stars that filled her.
Each spring they return, bound to renew small wonders– Innocent by turns. (Artwork by Izumi Yokoyama)
You mean to tell me that God is Bo Peep and her sheep are not sheep at all but rather dream-spiders spinning intricate patterns and noodle-strand mandalas to freestyle a movable feast in some obscure forest known by some as … Continue reading
Her secret refuge, at childhood’s keen edge, flirting with grace on the rim.
She scattered white light through the context of blue ink– Heartbreak, Chapter Two.
To listen with eyes, in a forest of deep blue– Music spiring dreams. (Image by Christian Marclay)
In the end, as in the beginning, we shall find that the whole cyclical shebanga was a mischievous riot, a fool’s paradise of child’s play upon fluorescent plasma, or to parrot the enlightened pearls of Mister Voltaire, “God is a … Continue reading
In the dream my mother and me are sitting in the lobby of a restaurant. We are waiting to be seated for dinner. The hostess comes up to me and asks me if I am ________. I … Continue reading
This road, for how long? Blossoms give up the ghost, fall with no dreams clinging.
