Tag: Books

Binary Stars – The Kid And I

The kid comes in, snaps a few photos of a living clutter, the retail store. “We don’t have anything like this.” The standard review, spoken by the parent of the kid who shares the photo on Instagram, Facebook, or some other app. The shop…

By The Book

I came from chaotic matter, unformed, unnamed, a forest of thought, discord, a region of unlikeness. But now I am formed, symmetrical, a language, a song, a poem, matter between skin, meanings I would like to think of as endowed with light. I did…

I Used To Swim The River

I remember swimming against your current, only to find myself stuck, muscles not strong enough to make progress. I learned to swim with you. I remember heading for your deepest channels, where the big ships travel, catching large wakes. Your cautions were always whispers….

Known

  Being poetic can be accidental However, Being a poet is no accident  

Kiss (Portrait 11)

The streets at night shimmer under the emerging, movement of streetlights. It’s the tree limbs that cause their action. Above them, wires stretch into an evolution of light and dark. Of course, that’s where we kiss. Where else? And it’s a damn good smooch….

Poetics

Feel free to make representations out of your own fiction. Be careful when you make representations of someone else’s truth.      

Undertow

A reader dips a hand Into swift water Waiting in initial silence To be taken by the current   An author swims Without life preserver Arms….splashing Yelling towards the shoreline

Et Tu

  Et Tu has been published.

Hanging Art

With full knowledge of its weight, made heavy By its gilded frame, Requiring strong wire Thick nails, to secure it In place—level—solid Upon a wall of plaster Chipped, repainted in layers Colors upon colors thick. We used our steady eye A skill, a tool,…

Last Of The Trick Or Treats

Little slim acne face You know you’ve been jabbed at Your laugh the littlest A small-like snicker Bedrooms are for hiding No need to involve yourself In overtime with the idiots…just Dig into that last Halloween candy bag Your grandmother bought you For Christmas…

Published

 

There Is Always A Then

Thoughts are objects And they are bound within A fiction of our infinite pages. Leafs so thin, That we fit them Within forever With careful words. The parchment is made Of flesh and leaves. We press flowers within our covers Endless, every so often,…

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