Posts
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Over the snow
Warm light after a winter wideness.
I keep walking down the street, plowing softly,
each lit window a church bell melody.
An unmade god lives under the new snow.
Our city was built on a chess board, -
To Desire the Godess
The methodology of beauty: -
The Metronome
I am terrified of what it means to be alive,
terrified of the queasy absurdity of living,
the spring-flower-hot-oil rhythm of life.
Trilling along a relentless number-line, -
Lampshades
Your persistent algebra tears me from myself.
After our kiss, my creaking timbers were finally composed.
I've been waiting for a secret knowing.
Under the covers, warm and full of light, it came to me: -
New day
We are made of flesh:
pink and unseen.
Hands pressed together in prayer, -
Pink and red
Your lips are pink. I can’t tell if it’s lipstick or love.
I am frowning, halted, playing hopscotch with my breath,
Loves
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Meese is the Plural of Moose
Her eyes were not fixed on god but rather on the large taxidermied moose head fixed above the choir on the wall across from where she sat. It may as well have been him.
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The Gift
I learned that butchering purity is ungodly,
yet on the silver platter, I see a snow lamb as fired slabs. -
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Autumn's Harvest
As the years go by,
the seasons may become a blur,
but late in the evenings of autumn,
you’ll hear the wind start to sigh.
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The Words my Mother Gave Me
I wrote a poem today, but I don't think anyone will ever see it
I wrote it using nothing
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A Pablo Neruda Quote
“Qué será mi pobre patria oscura?”
“What will become of my poor, dark country?” - from “Insomnia” by Pablo Neruda
