Cedar and birch drift beneath stone arch,
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carrying you, carrying me, like the aliens we are
through black hole into universe unknown.
A world demanding meaning alternates between cynicism and starry eyes.
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See, all a detail must do
is matter to be written down.
And all a detail must do to mean
is to occur,
Minuscule heart!Read More »
I’ve been holding on tightly for dear
holding on tightly for fear of what’s next,
holding on tight as I can,
I g-Read More »
Jern wanted to see the heart
I’d locked inside a drawer.
I fished in all my pockets but couldn’t
talk to Jern anymore.
My crossroads were a metaphor,
because where was I when I realized the road before me forked?
In the reclining chair,
painting the epistemic situation in the distinctive shades
of sand, sun, and tumbleweeds- nothing but dust and wind on either
side as far as eye could see. And how was I to choose between,
and win or lose or even move?
But that’s the thing about crossroads. You never paint their metaphor
if you find sitting still an option.
It would be a third path, and you would plow on. So,
pressure. Tick, tock.
But my crossroads were a metaphor! I finally realized,Read More »
Place me among the breast of the blue jay when it claps its wings,
that I too may turn concave,
blown back by its power’s rush,Read More »