Posts
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The Earth and the Sun
I fall asleep reading about duende, reading, radiating duende. That’s what Lorca’s poetry does: it causes my grandmother’s pitched voice to tremble with a terrible softness, like the moon liquified and stored in a jar. -
Soft Clay
she wakes like soft clay,
a notion pressed onto her face
the morning is as blue
as a low-timbered evening.
low enough to sway to,
vibrations etched into cracked lips -
Before you jump
Last night, I went down to the water just before it got dark. I sat on the seawall with my knees close to my chest and smelled the salt. The water was grey, but it reflected the burnished purple of the sky. -
In the Morning
In the Morning, I listened to Classical Music. -
Dying Daisies
what are we but dying daisies?
oh, holy one, one who is whole,
leave me without petals. I'm only
a yellow center ripe with pollen
that has not yet become honey.
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Propped Up Sky
Cycling along the flat cement at sunset, we hear the frog song. It swells, candid and all-consuming. It’s like drinking plain mint tea on a bitter evening. But winter is gone now, we must find our sharpness elsewhere.
Loves
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Coffee Runs
When I was a kid, I had a near perfect childhood. I had friends on the same street as me, and we rode our bikes around the neighborhood playing cops and robbers.
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Togetherness
He sits 6 feet behind the sideline, wondering how the sport in front of him works. The whistle was blown and he felt a sense of togetherness. Teammates were lined up across the bench sticking out on each end by at least 3 people.
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Glittering
I locked eyes with him, the glowing man on the stage.
He glimmered, his red hair shining under the spotlight.
That was all it took for my heart to be stolen away. -
Great Nullification
Every vow cried to the tip of a saber,
Every soul sold to a higher or lower power,
Every road paved to lead others astray,
Is nullified.
Revoked,
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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