Metal flake light in this descent descant desire a white cup holds the rain tightly against the clutter pressing leaves into the finger of God.

I pretend I have amnesia and forget that I am pretending. I have forgotten the game which began the journey. I am holding something in my closed right fist. I open my hand to find dice. I walk into the first house I can find and cast the die. Two blank faces result. Looking into a mirror, I see a five and a seven hovering around me like two ( Read more... )

By Keith Olbermann ( Read more... )

Implausible blue sky! Relentless sleeping earth! Let these pass into the memory of this October light. The locust leaves becoming gold foil to adorn the triumphant crown of Winter when she is installed as goddess on her mutable throne, from which the flags of blue and black hang like an impending night.

Compassionate light spills like milk across the table. The table from which the feast has been withdrawn. The ivory plates, the spoons, knives, and forks removed. Stones have been laid in their place. Stones which may overturn the order of things, hurled against the locked doors and windows of the house we built and furnished and provendered, ( Read more... )

"If ye love wealth better than liberty, the tranquillity of servitude better than the animating contest of freedom, go from us in peace. We ask not your counsels or arms. Crouch down and lick the hands which feed you. May your chains sit lightly upon you, and may posterity forget that ye were our countrymen!"
- Samuel Adams

Sorry not to have posted in so long. Work is a bear right now. And it's gnawing at my leg. I took on the added task of being webmaster for the Unitarian church I've been going to. The divorce is dragging on... and on... and on.... And, I think I have a little bit of post-publication blues after pushing to get the CD out ( Read more... )

Something has burst, like the sudden rain of summer or early fall. The blue wall that appears suddenly, sweeps over the hill and is upon me so that I can then relish it, not having anticipated this delicious treasure which I open my mouth and receive, a sacrament of passion and eros, lifted on the tongue.

Today Reuters reports ( Read more... )

The milk of morning spills over as pale light and flows into the world, exalting every molecule and atom as if it were a kingdom which anyone could rule. And from this all manner of people flee, refusing to be the monarch of their own senses and, instead, stumbling blindly in the light as if it were night.