Tag: Literature

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—…

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…

Frankenstein

We think the river a wild beast, amok, tilling a path in soil. But it’s us—in another form, searching for a mate who can only be made in our own image.   We slow the stream, to a reservoir’s pulse, in hope to drink…

Vulnerability

Only through our vulnerabilities   Can we speak of ourselves Where no genders build language Where no categories structure Your reaction to my voice….. My reaction to your voice. Either of us can be the words Slicing into the coolness Of our combined angers……..

Et Tu

  Et Tu has been published.

Opal Pool

The roads are so young Where old mines have been forgotten. They stumble through the forest Uneven, full of ruts, washouts. Men have come with tools Left them, returned with better. Implements that shine silver Rust resistant, until rains never stop. The goal is…

Read It Silently

Read It Silently has been published.  

Seeing

My eyes can only look outward. They seek, witness, and search No singular thoughts of their own Catching movement and color Concentrating on sound sources Sorting light and darkness Outside binary restraints Transmitting their way into an inner vision Processed with thought Mixed with…

Published

 

The Collision Of Paragraphs

  The heated horizon Produces an allure. My eyes follow its linear line, moving with the melodic narrative– There are other voices—here Where hills make outlines. Harmony is horizontal– A dialogic freeway. It is the rain That stops streets And plays with the oil…

The Instrument (Portrait #2)

  I stumbled upon her, hidden behind a large sliding door, within the comfort of darkness, unmoved, silent. Is that possible? She seemed so old, so incredibly old, as if one touch would turn her into dust. And dust was inside, so much earthly…

There Are Days Of Longer Daylight

  There are days of longer daylight When time can’t figure out what direction it travels. A lost light, which cannot heal, as it hurls itself forward A movement through something, changing Abandoned. It cannot come back or go home.   We build nests…

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