My dream, or need, has always been to gauge and organize my mania into something resembling music, or at least rhythmical sutures detailing the heart’s lighted country of scars while proving, beyond shadows, its valiant worth. Advertisements
Greater flow dictates– let it go, let it all go, respire in wonder. Photo by Philipe Hugonnard
Time slowed, and I carefully studied what amounted to a prophetic X-ray, showing me the void within, her future ghostlife, or perhaps mine, grinning at me like a black hole, an atomizing tantalus with a ravenous appetite and pearls for … Continue reading
Beginnings are never just beginnings but endings and middles all at once, Time, that slippery procreative eel, siring its own gospel brood, leaves us with a charge of options from which to bond and choose in a stream unending in … Continue reading
Touch me where I am not, where the fade meets the form, where the furtive scent of glisten perfumes its own root cause and fable, give to me the dirty dinghied secrets of the center, the storied core, which, in … Continue reading
It is in the dark, the wild opaque frontier of scent and missive, where the thesis of glimmer bares recognition upon who and how much we are not when touching, the run of love a gradient quicksilver etched in pulsing … Continue reading
In the necklaced orgy of stars, the molten bandolier, I found one, blatantly cursive and blue-hot, calling to my center of gravity, my throbbing crisis, and I fell in love, purloining the impossible to give the heart its silent crush, … Continue reading
Through winter’s icewalk, the heart, a lonely hunter, dares to prey on light.
The slow, long walk home, across a frozen tundra– The sun smiles, faintly.
By turns, the sworn blue tenor of lyric and charge, a few simple words warmed over in holy bask and offered to the close-knit belles and folds of slow-felt darkness, a writer’s pinkish interior gauze to hem the silvery saying … Continue reading