The recent coriolis winds -
Such harbingers of great dismay
Carry forth the scent of life,
From shores so far away.

And in the darkness that grows thick,
As worry forms a cage,
I dream of freedom... southern, sweet,
A perfect Georgian sage.

Change is coming, in the clouds.
There's passion in each storm,
And in the floods that follow,
We'll be satisfied, if ( Read more... )

Last day's rays turn amber spears...
Chills run down the spine,
While cooler winds bring back
A feeling lost in all the years.

We're fighting back the shivers
To bury what became of us
And search for all the wheres and whys
In September's softening mud.

Calling from the meadow dark,
About the woods' periphery
Comes that primal song which tears:
The universal litany.

Cardinal, I gave your name,
Shining bright as morning sun.
Chase the lark and quote the score.
Retreating, don't forget me.

Let my image be of
Feather weight and no concern,
But swear you will remember
For whom all your colors burn.

For I've sod ( Read more... )

A broken white fence...
The illusion of calm
And the epitome of ornament,
Wasted completely on my failing eyes
And owing nothing
To appearance,
Still keeps the yard intact.
Every misplaced toy
And paper cup
Leaves a memory
Bigger than the hidden house.

In this muggy city on the river, we have no historical identity, so we overdose, analyze, dissect and fuck with pop culture. If Andy Warhol rose from the grave, he'd come to Austin before he bought new clothes. For an economically and politically important city, we have no important history. But as long as you're staunch in your opinions about film ( Read more... )

The throngs of people were millions thick. Fervent, hell-bent, they lined the great expanse and jeered while a solitary figure was presented in shackles. The monster had been captured.

But despite the overwhelming emotional tidal waves of satisfaction and schadenfraud, the millions made not a sound. For this great expanse was the internet, and this ( Read more... )

The daschund on the flight above me rattles his chain lazily.
It's summer now. Officially, not for a handful of days, but at this point formality is a joke.

One could cut the air with a dull finger, trace an epithet in it... "move north". The writing collapses under the weight of humidity. And while my little hairy neighbor has ancestral daydreams of ( Read more... )

Step inside and bring your friend,
No doubt she'll make the first move.
Poke the soil, test the brick
Then wait for something to prove.

Then you'll become obsessed
O'er the writing on the wall,
And wish to take place in the game
Without being there at all.

Within grace's rare brooding,  the tempest's
Concealed.
Long before gossamer veils 
All give way,
Betraying the torrent which grows, 
Like a child,
Confirming the rumor which amounts to a wall
Constructed of sayings we speak but don't feel.

Short hand clutching to the seventh hour,
The sparrow counts the score,
Interfering once again in my sad song.

The one I want - she's gone since
Half a day ago, and I've been stricken for 
At least three times as long.

Now the cathedral on my table has
Eleven stained-glass saints
Each with a prayer assigned, and a memory.

But the sun is a harsh minister
( Read more... )