A gentle melody that nudges— awakens, a memory it wasn’t love then, not yet just a noncommittal thought that you would always be there. The tune was dusty, metallic a music box phantom from somewhere the ashes of ashes vibrating soft melancholy of a forgotten matter of fact. to the unconditional love between a child …
untitled ii.
brick clouds, satin sky french thunder rumbles in jazz tears of the bayou. French Quarter, New Orleans, 10:37am.
untitled i.
Scent of coming rain whispers beneath the oak tree I await its tale. Jakuren Hōshi, 87
a straw and a camel
im tired of being okay with things im not okay with. the Congo Rainforest is being raped by sleazy companies and desperate bushmen California teachers marooned in parent's living rooms, the flag half-mast for a queen a queen in a nation of babbling democratic zealots; and it's funny, in that helpless sort of way. "sometimes …
tribute to Stevie Wonder
Ta-nehisi called it Mecca his Hampton University where the negro gunslinger waltzes with cotillion debutante I've found it here scatting on stage in black revelry a sweaty trumpet pleads: "love's in need of a little love today love is in need." Meyerson Hall held a sing-a-long tribute to the classics sung by Stevie Wonder. somehow, …
rue
a nudge at the hide of the sleeping bear i languish after that beast of inspiration yet, as with Wordsworth the thing appears to have run from my frailty rather than devouring me whole. writing is so very elusive at times. I remember childhood when I was bursting full of stories. now, I must purposefully …
mercy
1. dime si no es verdad que una flor es nada más una flor y el valor que tiene se lo hemos dado, así como le petit prince atesoraba su única flor la suya— 2. de tal manera recuerda el vecino gusano que cuida los lirios juega con los niños y después se le arrastra …
mono no aware
Tower of Babel, ziggurat skyscraper whatever we elect to name them industrial arms of Gaia its amazing still, though— i much prefer the delible, deciduous leaves crunch and blow regrow i write poems in the water in Dallas park i sit and watch the traffic go. as much as I love the permanence of monuments, …
from the airplane
Peering through a crack in the sky, from a seat on AA2658, the enso etched by the steady hand of Amaterasu my eyes are blinded— burning tundra, mountains of lava and dust visages of red thunder rumbling soveign across the clouds. written the last time I saw my sister.
the embarkation
"Well, that's like, your opinion man." And yeah, sure. The homeless and the glutton clumped like fried dough all doing blow, or alcohol, or music on the crossing of Auzerais and moonlight "San Jose. It's alright, at best." "Sure," I laugh, but seriously no man is an island entire unto himself . The hotel was …
The-Bleu-Bivouac 