Tag: Blog

Thinglewart

So true, so true Thinglewart is blue And who knew, who knew, what to do? For Thinglewart is a preposterous pest Indeed he wears a stiff, starched vest No stretchy, stretch for Thinglewart ever Just keeps on shoveling shit ‘til never ‘Til the sky…

Circuit Tree

  Daily images uploaded on Instagram. Follow @undeciduous on Instagram.    

Flection

With each leaf a face of dryer future falls reflects the prolonged fixing and fiddling of limb and ground. I step cautiously, hearing you beneath my shoe. Upon your spine, I search for strength. Your breath crumples with a sound of what was and is…

Arc Eternal

Arc Eternal 

Orbital

    (Click on image to enlarge) More images found here.

Leaf Finder General

She rakes leaves as if she’s in a battle with fall With those pranksters of maple, oak, alder, and all Who best be off elsewhere, staying clear from her home Or sticking fast by autumn’s mist to the garden gnome Better not sneak under…

T.S. Eliot Bumps Into A Second Person

    The voiceless have built a city within this city, structures embedded within the grid, pulled together by patchwork—cloth, tent, sawdust floor and plastic sheet. You’re there, measuring your life in coffee spoons, on that same street, right next to them. You see…

Soundness

He’s moving to a song he knows and it’s a song we’ve heard before but can’t place. As he moves, the sweat, sores, and scratches stay in place. What’s inside him is externalized. He doesn’t care about our inner secrets, our inner fears, our…

A Writer’s Guide To Revision

I peek out from the analog…paper skin, bone and water…hue, saturation…body tweaked with vibrance, a layering of edits, revision…revised with dark lines, shades on skin, adjustments…adhered, affixed. Fixed. My face, my story, a template, structure of desire, rouge of action…series of alignments…light and color,…

Rampant Dust

We’re rampant dust with sunlight between our fingers.   Check out more images here.    

Ghost Story For The Wilderness Impaired

She’s a ghost. I know that. She brushes her fingers along my shoulders and I will look up to find her playing among the trees, pretending to be the wind. She’ll drop a pinecone or a small branch as a reminder. Then, off she…

Ramona Falls’ Mist

Ramona’s whisper requites us to ourselves—our fires extinguished, our thirst sated. That voice, a pact between mountain and moisture, is a quiet call to us The stumbling pilgrims, forest wanderers, wishful sages who suffer from acute chatter. Its language—slow—near wordless, near nothing, paints upon…

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