The Beginning of It All Amelia lifted her leg and struck the side of Jackson's foot with her boot, having found him exactly where she thought he'd be. The stable whistled with modest sound, as the horses snorted in their sleep despite the daylight, having long grown used to the schedule of their owners. Jackson …
wotd. ii
The Beginning of It All "Enter." As always, the air in the study was damp. She could feel it cling to her, a prickling coolness that settled darkly on her uniform and skin. It was a quiet enclosure, small. There was nothing more than an aged map, its leather curling at its sides, resting upon …
a poem
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 …
ghosts of the sea
the smell of sea-salt lingers on the wind, a memory tugs sort of painful but im grateful for it somehow. the bright white restless sand plucks my eyes and in the recesses i recall... the you that doesnt exist anymore smiling at me who doesnt exist, anymore. eight years of wisdom poured into a sweaty …
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.
a quandary of memory
There is a Darwish poem about a place that becomes itself retrospectively, quietly where its image, its likeness in memory is stronger than the place itself. Dialectics, maybe a penchant for nostalgia but then, aren't myths our interpretation of history? Home isn't a landline the ocean wasn't blue, a gist is more than the sum …
The-Bleu-Bivouac 