Posts
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τό καλόν, τό ἀληθές, τό ἀγαθόν (Transedentals)
The woman wears her skin
like a bathrobe.
She stands in the middle
of a golden field,
weeping fresh water.
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The Storm's Eye
The sky
blows in more snow,
a breath
from frozen elsewhere.
There is a storm
raging
inside the silent rage
of the storm,
inside God’s eye,
unopened.
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Cubism
‘"With your pictures you apparently want to arouse in us a feeling of having to swallow rope or drink kerosene.”
– Braque to Picasso
Maybe it’s as simple as this:
Maybe God’s hundredth name is His face. -
At the Altar
Oh Lord of Windows,
Oh Window,
Oh Mirror with Drawn Curtains,
maybe if I keep tapping,
keep drumming my fingers on your altar,
you’ll wake up. Maybe -
The Farmer's Market
my uncle grabbed a bag
of fiddleheads,
tender beginnings,
at the farmer’s market,
said he was going
to fry them
with honey, pink-
peppercorn, and salt.
the farmers bring dirt -
Mixed Metaphors Chapter 1
A light mist was pouring in off the Caspian sea. I closed my click, sighing into the dark as I pulled on a yellow, wide-legged, vinyl jumpsuit.
Loves
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To Be a Son
Blue and black blur as the football spirals through the air,
My hands outstretched,
The ball tumbling closer and closer.
I drop it.
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The Chaotic Misdemeanors of Bluejay One
A green tea bag is baking cold out on my porch
A piece of gray rock from the quarry wanted to be torched
Whipped cream pecks your cheeks with specks and flecks of blue
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Wildfires in Autumn
Sirens sound, at 2:00 am. My heart pounds as I look out my apartment window and into the smoke.
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Pumpkin season
I’m four years old and it’s pumpkin season again.
I’m holding tightly to my best friend’s mittened hand
and feeling the wind whipping at my face,
turning the tip of my nose pink,
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The lost boat
I am a lost sailor
Pulling
Tugging at
The boat
The wave
Here
Crashing down on me
Ripping my soul into
As many pieces as there are grains of
