Category: AI Art
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0603: Journal of Thoughts
Between the Salt and Pepper We used to wave them off at stations. Kisses pressed into collars,wars with foreign namesdissolving into newsprint. Some came home. Some didn’t. Distancewas a mercy then. Now the table is laid. Salt.Pepper.A glass of waterholding the small reflectionof a child’s face. The television speaks. Bombs fall. A street we have…
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0503: Journal of Thoughts
Snowdrop Arithmetic The church croucheslike something that survivedseveral endings. Stone remembersmore than it admits. Foundations laid when handsbelieved in plaguesas weather.Now it stands in our village,pretending permanence. Outside, the graveyardis freckled with snowdrops.White as surrender,white as teeth. Each bloom a small uprising.Each stem threading upwardthrough the cold grammar of bone. No one planted them for…
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0503: Ten Things of Thankful
1) Attention to detail. There is sheer joy in the beauty of noticing things. (the iron hinge on the village church door.) Things are old around here — I’m thankful that they’re appreciated. 2) Snowdrops in the church graveyard. Every spring they bloom over the heads of those below. No, it is not morbid or…
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4003: The Weight of Iron
The Weight of Iron They hang now in museum lights,mute ribs of a vanished beast:plough and pitchfork,sickle with its patient crescent moutha wooden beam bowed like a tired shoulder. But once—they were thunder. A man rose before the sunwhen winter still stitched fields in silver thread.His breath smoked like a small engine of faith.He wrapped…
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0303: Spring Thoughts
Tonight, the Worm Moon.Tonight, the serious thing.The moon that names itself after the casting,the turning,the slow, blind labour beneath the soil. Time to get up.Time to get moving. Time to be, like the crow:the theorem of my own life,the whole cold mathematics of an eye. And the birds still think I’m morning. Some images are…
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0303: Six Sentence Story
Brigid’s Diary, 1834, The Loom Breathes Episode I: Lyon France The silk looms had been breathing all night, a wooden patience that learned anger one shuttle at a time. By morning the steep streets of Lyon filled with canuts climbing toward the Croix-Rousse, silk thread clinging to their sleeves like pale cobwebs, their boots striking…
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0203: Journal of Thoughts
All Clear Something fell.Not from the sky,from inside the architecture of me.A dark shade pulled,a sudden subtraction.I ducked.Who wouldn’t duckwhen the world suddenly lacksthe corner where you keep your name? They looked.They said: trick.Just a trick.As if the body playing haunted houseis somehow less a ghost. I am not blind.But I have seen,for one long,…
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0203: The Looms Liturgy
Liturgy for the Looms That Never Stop(Lyon, 1834, where silk costs more than children) I. The Sound That Never EndsIt begins before dawn and continues after.The clack clack clack of wooden shuttlesthrowing thread, catching thread,weaving fabric that will never warmthe hands that made it. All day. All night. Every day.The looms do not rest.They cannot…
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Vivaldi’s Winter — L’Inverno (1st Movement) #8
8 Vivaldi’s Winter — L’Inverno (1st Movement) Prologue for the Deaf Listener: This project (multi-part) is written with the deaf reader in mind. It translates orchestral movement into embodied language. These words are the sound of cold becoming a lash. Bring on the wind with teeth of glass, biting bare branches into prayers of splinter.…
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The Old Woman With No Cat
The Cat Questions the Daffodil (A Floral Inquiry) The cat sits in the morning sun,one paw delicately touching a yellow petalas if it might bite back. “Daffodils,” he enunciates,slowly,testing the word like a suspicious piece of chicken, “Who decided?Who looked at this…yellow trumpet on a twig and thought,‘Yes. Daffodil. Good name.’ Certainly not a cat.A…
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