(Cluny Museum, Paris)How weary it must beof remaining in full bloomfor eight centuries, perfectlyerect on its thornless stem.What if it it should yieldto the blandishments of decayone day and begin to drop its petals,first the wide outer rows,then the middle layers,delicate as eyelids,and the smallest, fallingwith a soft cry of releaseinto the glittering dustbefore astonished... Continue Reading →
At the end of the road on the island,indecipherable ruins, the penetratingessence of sage and thyme.You are alone with the stony heat,scoured of thought.The sea crashing into jagged cavesand sliding back, tireless,the blond sand and the emptiness,once heard, will hold you forever,stranger, on this island where the road ends. More from this Author Read More... Continue Reading →
On some nights – and tonight might be one of them –the sadness feels as though it belongs to someone else,was spun into a veil and left here, waiting for meto come home in the evening and be greeted by silence, suddenly covered, caughtin this cobweb:I wonder where you came from, where you’re going, what you’ve... Continue Reading →
Freedom, forever a word of ghost stories and rumor hearsay,now was tangible, arriving in the form of men in blue fatigues,who marched into town and gave decrees, and played a bugle,that I imagined, sounds like the horn Gabriel will play on Judgement Day, when all humans are recognized, and all souls are constituted into being. For the first... Continue Reading →
I wonder if they write stories at the Church of God’s Love. How do they remember the hobos who rode along? It’s hard to scrape up a paragraph for the tumbleweed. The person who visits once, scarcely denting the pew, is a mystery. Perhaps his church was closed for stinkbug removal. He may be a... Continue Reading →
If you work at a cat shelter, you will cry. You may be the toughest feral who ever gnawed leather. You may be a flannel anarchist who spray-paints the words “eating animals” on STOP signs. You may be a failed pastor whose Master of Divinity gets a laugh in this particular sanctuary. However you got... Continue Reading →
Yesterday was many years unlivedI spent too introvertedin mental plagues and fast pleasures;little did I feel the summer breezeand yet it blew through my clothesas did many coffees down my throatand ticks of clock through my heartbeats,I may have kissed and forgot;treated hugs pettily;I would love now to adore presently:love in effect and all within... Continue Reading →
I am scar bound, this is nothing new. I can slit my throat a thousand timesand continue to choke. People will stand in awe as I try to wrap my throat. Each time I can never contain the blood,so the liquid plasters my fingers.It is foreign, it has become a stranger.Yet every time, I feel no danger . . .I... Continue Reading →
Since my injury, I have discoveredmy left hand is still a child.It can’t brush its own teethor wash its own face.It can’t even spoon itself foodwithout spilling.Its scrawl reveals itto be perhaps three or four, at most,despite its advanced vocabulary.The right hand has always held custodybut now the left hand is in charge,home alone, playing... Continue Reading →
It is December in Alabamaand everyone has the fluor strep throat or a sinus infection.My own throat is raw with swallowingwords that are not mine.I have been waiting in this room for an hour.There is nothing here but a blank wall,a metal chair, the exam table, and a red sharps container.There is no window to... Continue Reading →
