ExistExistBecause in this there is beingbody and soul twisted the basic form of existencethreaded together, existing forevera cord of three strandsnot easily severed but lasts a braid unbrokendespite the edges seeking to open skin, spill blood and still spiritAnd we hear itin the sirens' songmidnight lights appearinglike long red sighson the sides of buildingssilhouetting the people peeringat passing squad cars and ambu-lancescrowds full of silence and sidelong glancesmumbling condolences while the devil dancesgleeful as happiness and safetyflee for safer sides of the streetwhere they might meet and flow
The Necessity of HandkerchiefsOn the Necessity of HandkerchiefsHe sat dreaming of elephants in the darka wispy fantasy, thin as smokehovering around his headIts clean crisp cornerscut a cool white slit through the heaviness of the heatreminiscent, he thoughtof a well pressed handkerchiefHis lay rumpled and dampin a limp hand on his lapin his study, where he satdreaming of elephants of dark
Still Night WaitingStill Night Waiting on SleepIStill Night Waiting on SleepIt is difficult to sleepwhen my breathing keeps breaking the ice that has formed over the still surface of the room(The wheeze of the rhythm's limping enginefixed fan flowing through my throat)It is impossible to restwhen each of my motionsis amplified by the shuffling of sheetsa disruption of your carefully balanced quiet(The sound of you settling into bed is the roar of oceanmuffled by the distance of cliffs)I know it's beneath your skinlike a fever passed through a splinterthe unavoidable sharpness of wordsspoken without the bitterness of bladescuts
Wheel CountryWheel CountryI imagine. I imagine I am hovering just below heaven, looking down on the earth lying quietly in the darkness of its own shadow. Looking down, hidden from the sun, to witness man discontent with the darkness, and his inventing of light. His fires, created or stolen from nature, the consequence of lightning and dryness, the divine manifestation of that singular holiness in the sky, broken off and fallen to earth as power and control, kept and reverently stoked, smoldering slowly in a sacred lacquered box, full of more problems than Pandora's. I watch as man's fires flicker and expand into the darkness of the unknown, within