I have not posted here in quite some time. The desire to write has been lingering under my skin, but as previous posts in this journal will attest to, sometimes all it does is linger, maybe fester. But the thoughts are there, like this one ( Read more... )

Sightless white graves of ( Read more... )

it is the fiercely original fire
and steady procession of dusk which
saves us.

the spark calculates
and there it is,
the little taste of gold,
her distractions, like a train whistle
or the heart of a deer
in a glowing snow, no leaves,
no life around, just a footstep or two
searching for permanence.

spiral drip
good luck, erosion
caves fall quiet

in the end our journey keeps us ( Read more... )

what is it, to promise ( Read more... )

a year ago in the woods I spotted a fox. its eyes turned towards the sound of me, one paw lifted for the slightest moment before bolting off into a pile of leaves the color of its fur. I followed to where it had been, the empty hope of perhaps still finding it there. but the fox, of course, was gone ( Read more... )

you have built the loveliest of traps ( Read more... )

the curling spines
of hospitals,
derelict and septic,
kindle and char,

the cities spin in their
black dawns, shiver at
the curious eyes searching
from sewer grates,
we trip (the light)
on fantastic steel,
our wayfaring hands
hold the rope, swing
into the sea, swiftly,
softly, as alone
as the first astronaut.