Category: AI Art
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2401: Ceramic Truths
Ceramic Truths The sun is splitting the sky open.Night lifts,a spill of milk — dawn is like sleeping with the lights on. My mug; always this one.White, a black penny-farthing.Tivoli. Copenhagen.(Not Rome. Never been.Though I do like pasta.) The chip in the handlefits my thumb like a worry stone,a small devotion,a memory of the morningwhen…
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Csárdás Part 3
Csárdás (as body-memory) The first stroke of the bowis not music;it is touch.A slow drag,a finger tracing the spineof the room. The sound is dark,sultry with sorrow,the colour of bruised wineand old heat. People close their eyes.Some wounds open.Some hips stir. Then the rhythm snaps!God, it snaps,and the body answersbefore the mind can. Heels strike…
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22 Jan: Ten Things of Thankful
1.) …were you eaten by a cat; were you hit by a car; did a fox get you while your back was turned? Those were my thoughts for 2 weeks while my crow, who’s not my crow and never will be my crow, had a strop because I was away in Colombia. I am thankful…
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2201: MicroDosing 100 µg
He made this bench from an oak limb felled by lightning. Each plank cut and oiled by hand. It learned to read the curve of my spine. It knows the weight of thought. It was a July afternoon, heat spilling in from the continent, he found me in a gift of shade, he held two…
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2101: Six Sentence Story
Untitled In the church across the road, up a hill too steep for cars when it snows, they gather every evening — always the same few — coats damp, smelling of wool and fish. They sit on worn pews, reciting worn prayers, asking for health, or pardon, or nothing they can name, until twilight and…
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210125: Journal of Thoughts
This is a reflection inspired by Friedrich Zettl’s post “Spring Greetings from Yunnan” Where Mantra Holds the Mountain(inspired by Spring Greetings from Yunnan) Someone was here.They did not sign their name. They lifted a stone,warm from the palm,and set it downwhere prayer had already learnedthe shape of weather. These mountains never answer,but always listen. Yellow syllables…
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200125: Six Sentence Story
Dancing with Lions — Part 2 Brigid arrived home from the Six Sentence Café and Bistro in a rainstorm designed by and for fish; the gin was still amusing her, but even so it was an impressively Dickensian squall. She went straight to the kitchen, reached for a frosted mug, dropped in two scoops of…
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190126: Journal of Thoughts
Today Is the Day Morning unfastened itself in rain,a soft grey unlatching of the world.I pulled the curtains, and there it was,a small plane stitching the sky,dragging its sentence behind it:Today is the day. No thunder followed.No doors flew open.The kettle boiled.The hours put on their usual coatsand walked past without stopping. Still, that banner…
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1901: A Gogyohka Poem
A Gogyohka Poem Untitled last night’s snowstill holds the breathof those who never came home.my hand sinks in.its silence begins to burn. I will be herewaiting when the crocus return,and the snow drips like punctuationfrom my wrist. the crocus will risefrom a grave of ice,but I no longer flinchat the sting.I write spring in scars.…
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The Old Woman With No Cat
The Cat’s Nocturnal Symphony (in 2 Acts of Chaos) ACT I: PHILOSOPHY AT 2 A.M.The cat stares into the dark garden,one paw pressed to the windowpane:“If a leaf falls in the night,and no one is around to blame me for it…did it truly fall?” ACT II: The Reply at 2:10 A.M.(The Old Woman shouts: “YES.”)…
It's Still Life 