My loom is loud with water.His bouncing war legs are finallyStill. I weave into his dolorous mouthA golden thread of trust. I feel his gut,With my fingers and, now, he is not even curiousWhy he has seagrass from my estuary woven into his long hair. And so it goes. He...
Los Angeles never slept, not really. Its neon pulse kept beating across the cracked sidewalks of Figueroa, in the dead glow of streetlights, in the humming vibrations of cars slowing down just long enough to negotiate, watch, or judge. It was a city built on...
O Striver!Has not the line in the yard beyond sheer?Of name all the star, forever bear!Void, has it been, for all that refer?Such piquancy so clear, every wherever so near!Forgive me so, have I not dwelled in the shadow,far to the rear?
whose wishes are in your handstell me, who is wishing for loveHealing. whose wish is that?reconciliation may be one.. are you a mediator or the delivererare you the receiver, the sender or grantercan you be the soul of utilitarianism?how do you decide whose wishes to...
your only 6 feet awaybut it feels like countless milesi guess the deepest sleeps occur with granite pillowsnow you’re the coldest person with the warmest heartnow you reside in the quietest neighborhood in townwhere the wind through the pines and the occasional flight...