I don't understand.

Summer, sweet summer.  I can almost tast the sweat on my lips.  Summer solstice.  Midsummer.  My last day of summer classes.  I'm going to stay up all night until the sun rises and dance around a fire.

Blood pours down the mountain side and through the streets where the birds play in it and the children splash it with heavy stomps.  It pours down car windows on rainy days when rain drops go their separate ways, slowly climbing down the glass surface, refracting red stoplights.  And with a heavy sigh, a man who thought he loved her, leaning across ( Read more... )

Now it's cool in here and Clifford Brown is playing Cherokee.  I'm still mourning over the death of Jazz-- a man, a woman-- who died long before my time.  Yet, the years of human life are numbered.  Jazz lived an expected lifespan, perhaps some 60 or 70 years.  And now, the memmory lives on, granted, but Jazz is dead.  What a shame.  Why?  Why?  I ( Read more... )

Once upon a time, there was a child who was pissing me off and I broke all the little bones in his hand.  The end.  No.  I don't want to see your pokemon cards and no, I don't want to play with your leggos.  And no, I don't want to play games with you.  And no, I don't want to fucking hold your hand as we cross the street.  Run away.  Run away.  ( Read more... )

Nothing.  Nothing.  Nothing.  Nothing.  Nothing.  Nothing.  Nothing.  Nothing.
 

My soul poured in through the chamber doors of the room where she stood naked and black in silhouette.  Slowly my hand pushed forth with my eyes the heavy hinges as I approached her, arms extended, and feet nearly toppling over the Achilles heel and folding flat on the floor.  She rose her soft hands to her sweet face and covered her breasts with ( Read more... )

Overcast and gray with drops of rain dripping over the brim, the sky filled my mind.  And there, standing, without my feet moving, I circumnavigated the round world above the treetops.  The wind was busting through the leaves and in silence-- all was silence.  One of those silences that ever so often occur when the sheep and the goats are silent ( Read more... )

Miguel de Santiago ( Read more... )

There was a rotten apple covered in ants among the stones by the river. I imagined that it was the same apple plucked by Eve and dropped upon the head of Sir Isaac Newton. A river nymph must have carried it ashore and placed it among these stones. A fish jumped in the river. I asked myself if I should go in. I'd rather just go in there and ( Read more... )