Every day I build something from nothing. I fill my head with nonsense and shake it until something wonderful falls out. I scribble and scribble till the edges of the page are dense thickets. Then I move toward the centre. Some days there is nothing there. Other days there is something, maybe. I don’t discriminate; [...]
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Tagged: poetry
These words are light: they rise into the air, so I tie them down. I could build a ship under them, and it would take us high above everyone and everything, where we can see forever.
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Tagged: poetry
Later, it occurs to you that the box should not be opened, and so for a long time you leave it in a safe place, unopened. You think about it often, that box in that safe place, waiting to be opened. You always say, Not yet. Not yet. One day something happens. Or, something doesn’t [...]
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Part Of A Series The back of the house stares at the backs of other houses, down into their dustbowls. The sides of the house stare at nothing; it does not have eyes and there is nothing to look at, besides. The front of the house is a fraud: it spends all night screaming into [...]
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Tagged: poetry
Today is yesterday in the parlance of starlight but then they have forever and a day. The whitecoats say it won’t be long before we get there, if they have their way.
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A man steps out of a house into bright fresh possibility, tentatively. There are blanks to be filled. There are things he knows, and things he doesn’t; things too complex, and things too simple. A man steps out of a car into bright glass façade, routinely. There are banks to be filled. That are things [...]
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Save for yourself a sliver of freedom. Tie it around your neck with your house and car and family and job and all the people you know. It will be the heaviest of them.
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he said / she said ain’t no way you love me not like that love’s the thing you make it
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I am watching a film and the camera is panning left while the lights flutter to simulate a candle. I am listening to a song in which a saw and filter appear; four on the floor, four/four compression, etc. I am reading a book whose author is foreshadowing and using vivid adjectives to make sure [...]
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Imagine yourself flying south for the winter, guided only by another’s memories and the vibrating iron behind your eyes. It is that or risk transforming into something else; to stand outside Aristotle’s window, shifting, shifting, begging him to watch, begging him to see even a frame of it.
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Tagged: poetry