like a tree upon the waters whose shadow is cast before the reeds the damp sod hardens into cool, red clay beneath its roots and moss, settling upon the wise tree bark as though an armor— I stand with the cattails; amongst the blue grass, the dandelions, the whistling ferns winds meandering past in pursuit …
Hesed
when I lay down to sleep how should I know that I will wake? and yet, I believe so never have I feared that strange darkness the circus of arcane dreams; how jealous I am of my sleeping self, that I should trust the world to be as it was when I left it I …
prognosis
i stand alone under the fig tree bathed in patchwork shadow, the mosaic of flies humming in my ears a libation; for miles there was but the sands and this refuge, a lonely fig tree an iambic confection at times an oracle yet others, quietly eroded by time; i contemplate its parables. firstly, the barren …
moth gitana
me dicen que soy plaga invasora en esto yo no creo ¿quién me trajo a las afueras de mi tierra y me abandonó en las profundas de me ser? pues está roto el barco de mi reencarnación la crisálida no puedo volver— no puedo y me dicen invasora; que tuviera alas que me lleven al …
noc. i
Prelude "Behold, the saviors of our kingdom!" A thunder of applause ripped through the cerulean sky, banging against the gates of heaven as the men and women and children of Aryaedn crowded below the wooden platform, cheering and throwing flowers even as the kings' guards prodded them back. A small child, hair matted and dirty …
I-20
Cigar smoke, static from Atlanta, pollen; just blowing in the wind. on the road to Duluth, 1:30pm.
wotd. i
Prelude The night was pitch black, so dark that it seemed as if trying to seep into the candlelit room through the window, bleeding from behind the heavy crimson drapes to eat away at the edges of the velvet. That was the first sight that came into view, blinked into focus by a woman who …
a writer’s desk
A page barren of thought I could but hardly say, the lantern's wick has hardened the crowd is gone away shivering leaflets fallen on frozen beds of hay ideas congealed in bottled ink I stand before the fray— of cold, plagerized pages in 21st century gray of renditions and other nonsense that shall never see …
three legs in the evening
it has to be natural the neatness, predilect and routine grocery lists, in business casual casually. as hair ages to its winter it must ought to happen biologically. but i have to wonder if wonder is the causalty. must it always be? do sunsets extinguish curiosity? will age consume the dreams within me? are riddles …
ode to a little star
as though waves washing back from obsidian shores the clouds reveal you i hear their hastening upon the wind. i know what you are, now; and yet, the twirling galaxy in my chest this interstellar gravitas plucks the awe in me like sea stars dusts my dreams with pearls. june 28, 2022. 10:08pm.
The-Bleu-Bivouac 