Frizzed head. Floppy knit sweater with traffic light tapestry. Clownish chucks. Riding the metro is a spectator's sport, jeers and cheers left unnoticed. A carriaged baby beams up at me from its horizontal position, its padded nest restricting movements not yet learned. Her parents tell her (frenchly) not to stare, that it's rude. Infant oblivious ( Read more... )

For small creatures such as we
the vastness is bearable
only through love.

Carl Sagan

The stage is covered with soft light. Cardboard boxes are scattered, not just onstage, but throughout the aisles of the theatre. Two characters, Claude and Clive, march in from offstage right. Their noses are buried in well-used maps. Approaching center stage, they ( Read more... )

Lady Sheila’s gotitbad
tonight-
all solo while

Dakota wind ghosthowls &Old Dave
Entertains glow worms &Baby James

Lit in foreground falls
perfectly rush-push
Into the fountain all
unhung &unhealed.

Jacking off the stem of a wine class. Her mother’s face at Christmastime. Finding pockets of warmth in her lover’s body. Sparrows on the fire escape in the morning; waking up to chirping. Riding the underground rollercoaster; she wants to shout, “Throw your hands up!” but she does not, and the passengers remain forever unimpressed with the wonders ( Read more... )

Siobhán,
Darling, I've a lot to tell. Seasons have shifted. Last time we spoke... when was it? Too long, long, long. Nowadays it seems there's entirely too much space between everyone. We're all pilgrims, drifters, wanderers, wayfarers, rovers, nomads, dryads, peregrines, runaways, stowaways, searchers, seekers, scapegraces & bindle stiffs. ( Read more... )

hitchin to an island in a rainstorm
ain’t so bad with a lover
cept he can’t block the bombast
of the heat, or be a balm for my sunburn.

When she jots, she avoids narrative and sticks to postcard-sized images because this is how she experiences things in her head and this is how she wants the reader to experience them on the page. Yet she often feels that she is simply inadequate, capable only of unfocused garble. Her worst fear is the lack of stamina to sustain. Her dreams attest; ( Read more... )

Riding through the city on double-barrel rubber mouths with spokes for teeth, listening to faux throwback love songs, all synthed-up and ready to rear in the face of incendiary headlights like a pissed-off centaur defending the mythologies that brought him here, double flumes of steam exhausted from his snout, reigns jangling -- my naked mechanical ( Read more... )

( Read more... )

“living this close to the road ( Read more... )