Tag Archives: Heaven

The Gospel According to Ice Cream

Perfection, this life’s greatest untruth and maligner, see how ice cream summer-melts and runs like happy magma down the ridged wonders of a waffle cone clutched by a child like an edible prayer destined to disappear, one bite at a … Continue reading

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Fly Now, Pray Later

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

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Shift

I used to wreck on a regular basis. Going off the rails was my subversive way of keeping things under control. Illusions and mirages astonished me, still do. Something, anything, to hold on to was my gutted mantra, hollowed out … Continue reading

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Brink

Her hips, bladed just so, moved sharply in sync to the slothful slake of honey, slowpoured to christen the edge and brink of longing. Lazy Sundays between her thighs were my favorite holidays away from me in the nearest heaven … Continue reading

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Torn

All the pearly angels, torn, and wept, like so much confetti in a storm, papering a small world, where heaven closed off to rapt, and cherish got hopelessly lost.

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Tryst

The last time I fornicated with an angel my porchlights blew and we became tranluscent sheets of merger rising above a glassy pool of chartreuse reflecting in cursive the lighted gist of our holy remains. God, I’m open to another … Continue reading

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Lucy

Renegade angel, pissing golden light, to be obscene not herded.

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Emily Dickinson

At the severest hour, everything fell within. A banquet hall after the crash, after the deluge, and you, a mouse, courting lull, tracked pawprints in flour, stalking floorboards for crumbled manna. You, the mouse, with slow heaven firing your eyes, … Continue reading

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Joan of Arc

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 upperlip into a totem, before Louise Brooks and Josephine Baker … Continue reading

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Beginning Now

Craft. Tactile homage, and respect to craft, its inviolable depths and integrity, to approach craft as you would a fertile god, to practice, radically, at its altar, to consecrate with marked intent, and to know in your heart’s heart that … Continue reading

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