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(Untitled)
I'm sitting here on a Sunday with two screens ( Read more... ) -
Two Poems
The Printer's Wine
Rinse your mouth out with ink
and examine those teeth
before you write me a letter.
- - - - -
My Body Will Not Live Forever
I hope that science comes to my funeral
to discuss string theory
with the sleeping flowers
that grace
my decomposing form. -
Twenty-one
Unloved, unloved, you brutish son ( Read more... ) -
Spender
It is here in these empty canals that the spirits dwell,
the wind a strange bedfellow.
The tired glass and pretty coins in windows
wait in a lonely, solemn peace.
Red, green, golden hues on land that once held birth.
In the fragile leaves of time and minds
there lies a thousand delicate symbols of a hand and tongue long forgotten.
Sparkling dust that is ( Read more... ) -
Kiki-boy
Dreaming through a screen ( Read more... ) -
(Untitled)
It rained all through the departure. The people on the dock fussed with umbrellas and coats, for they did not want to say goodbye, really. It seems people often become strangers when saying goodbye. There was a considerable turnout, rain and all. Some came just to see the magnificent ships, and they were truly a breathtaking sight to behold. ( Read more... ) -
music box
sweet dreams, dream train
train of thought.
ride it on to the next stop.
sweet bones, crushed bones
only bones.
walk them on to the next home.
move along
up stream, down river.
move it on to the maker.
living in a
music box
looking out, watching out
spinning 'round in a
gold
dome
lock up, lay down.
sweet dreams
for tomorrow.
in a
precious box, a soft box
living in ( Read more... ) -
Writer's Block: Bite Me
I answer this only because I have been reading Anne Rice for the past month or so. The Vampire Lestat sits beside me as I type this. While I don't think I'd fancy joining the legions of bloodsuckers for all eternity, I would fancy giving Lestat a kiss because he's a fabulously charming vampire. I'd give Louis a hug, because it seems he's always ( Read more... ) -
(Untitled)
There is a boy who lives inside a box
filled with pictures.
All the pictures are old
and soft
and remind him of better times.
He swims
inside that picture box,
sleeping, drifting, hiding.
When the people glance to the box,
he offers them a picture
but never
shows his face.
There is a hole in his box,
and sometimes the dawn comes through,
but he continues to sit ( Read more... ) -
Last Summer
About a year ago, I thought the world was ending
and I had never been
so thrilled.
I never left the books I read lying around.
I clutched them to my chest and carried them
with me always.
At any moment, the smoke could have become too thick, too close--
but we were always
just out of reach.
We were on the map, on the news,
and under the red skies we thrived ( Read more... )