Like Your MotherI am the breadth and depth of my mother's words, created by her vocabulary, one soul unfurled from the tipLike Your Mother
of her tongue. So I carry the weight
and gate of her expressions, as I was grown inside
her traditions, the source of my language wrapped up
in her pronunciations. I follow the rise
and tide of her idioms, tread her paths of illogic
or reason. And I am soothed by lilt and intonation, an answer known by a glance, by the synchronicity of our sentence st
DistanceThis distance is an arm's length from heart to hip, a hair-breadth separation from palm to pinky, no more space between us than my eyes can banish: iris to iris and pupils expand. I feel alone. I have this heartDistance
and I have this hope
and I want to write
a poem
but all I've done
is sigh and find this
distance. It's late again. Midnight is heavy with weighty justifications, already tiring, prepared for their dissipation and dawn's disapproval. &n
fisherman's baskettalking about communism and parts of speech and reading and walking to buy food for each of us to eatfisherman's basket
this feels
concrete
but when he says it's not enough or nature wasn't good to us it's a state of shocking un-surprise that i find the ripples of beautiful eyes
don't follow through
Now I'm not such a good lover, I'm a better talker
and I can't hold down a love with just this slight frame of mine or my determined frame of mind this stuff is really tough and
eyes
sighs goodbyes are too muc
Faith in LongingThese cold times find me measuring my day in week-long spans.Faith in Longing
Each Sunday you paint my morning sky a sunrise shade of pink clouds against a baby blue celestial field.
It ends with such a holy beginning.
The long afternoon leaves me at the fickle Monday mercy of strange and desperate mathematics; an alchemist; using broken, fevered logic and twisted numbers to hastily delete whole days from my calendar.
But in the deep dusky air of late
Friday my sky ignites - awash in hues of liquid flame - dripping onyx, &n
--
let's go to the river and throw something in, something we can't live without and then let's start again.
--
Are you sure which side of the glass you are on?
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my attempts at photography and other stuff click
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~ "Ah, the internet, where men are men, women are men, and children are FBI agents" ~
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Sorry, my english sucks.
This is your nightmare, this is our mind.
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