Tag: Literature

When Josephine The Singer Leaves

There’s a burning inside her and you can see it when she’s holding in her voice. You’re lucky she holds it in, for when it hits air, it cuts you. These cuts cause you to fall inside her furnace, scald you, sting your heart… Continue Reading “When Josephine The Singer Leaves”

Bough

  (click on image to enlarge.)        

Gerald

He had lost an eye. Though, its orb still in its socket had turned a blurry blue, misty, had developed a different kind of sight. It was a pain experienced through years of looking, looking, searching. A pain no one could comprehend. Not even… Continue Reading “Gerald”

Teeth Of Sea

  The ways to one another are uneven. Steps expand, contract, falter, fuse Feet unsure, like magnets running Fixed fast to the sprawling spin Of simple skin and porous bone.   We push hands through texture Cool walls made up of paint layers The… Continue Reading “Teeth Of Sea”

Still Life (A Myth)

I will pick a blue flower. # The old one sits in a vase.  Navy blue, blackened, dry crumbs, as if pressed inside an old book. A little life clings to its edges, a lingering glow. Mother nibbles at these fresh parts, the fresh… Continue Reading “Still Life (A Myth)”

The High Lakes

The high lakes, frozen, clear, Distort reflections of the mountain.   Old men with trekking poles Filter through the forest.   All with some form of Achilles And Homeric hunger pangs.   Drawn to recite soliloquies To the unmoving cold.   Return to the… Continue Reading “The High Lakes”

Mary Shelley

Remnants of the past…embedded. Curled inside chalky lava flows Stuck to a shape…ripples in stone. Only elements change its appearance.   I and everything wait for the rain. The parched flowers and grasses Fragile skin, stalks, browns and beiges. Bloomed full, so easily, last… Continue Reading “Mary Shelley”

My Father’s Mouse

—-“Is it her singing that enchants us or is it not rather the solemn stillness enclosing her frail little voice?” -Franz Kafka I know the place he visits…those melodies. Songs like children that make sure you never forget your heart. I’ve tangled with them,… Continue Reading “My Father’s Mouse”

Emily Dickinson’s Refrigerator

‘Twas the vinegar that tippeth Toward the leftover quiche Oh, lonely empty bottle, recycler boon When sun meets to kiss moon— And mustard, your yellows bold A bit old, but still at play— Mummified lime, plastic lined Awaits blessed water of the fizzy kind—… Continue Reading “Emily Dickinson’s Refrigerator”

Receiving a Fine In a Station of the Metro

The apparition of these fare inspectors in the crowd; Donuts with icing, cream filled full.    

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