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24 Aug: A Six Sentence Poem
His Pulse (a Six Sentence Poem) The brush is a nerve,an extensionof the tremor in his soul. He does notthink of sunsetsor heartbreak. His eyesclosed,his minda silent white room,a peg in the wall of memoryholding fragmentshe cannot trust. It is only muscle —the memory in his own arm,it guides the brushstrokes,a twitch becomes a river,a…
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23 Aug: Journal of Thoughts
The Hunger Policy Fury is too small a word. This is a grief that scorches the throat. A silent, screaming void where bread should be. This is not nature’s neglect — it is a calculated, man-made hunger. A policy written in empty bowls and skeletal frames. A scream with no echo. I will always give…
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22 Aug: Not the Whole Bone
This Is Not the Whole Bone One ear pressedto the city’s ribs.Asleep in the moment of almost: almost safe,almost seen,almost loved, before almostswallowed me whole. I curl into print,a parody of rest,and dream ofstars, not just holesin a beggar’s blanket. But here,where shadows bend,I keep countof what refuses to end. In this kingdom of almost,I…
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21 Aug: A Thursday Door
Tall ivory doors stand proud and wise,Guarding secrets with gentle sighs.Their whispering hinges tell stories old,While golden walls of sunlight hold. The wallpaper remembers every spilled secret. Bushboy (Brian Dodd) shares photos of doors, but not just any doors. Spectacular doors from his journeys. Dan’s Thursday Doors opened the door on this. I love doors of all…
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21 Aug: Ten Things of Thankful
In no particular order: 1.I am thankful when I discover a new word, particular if it’s archaic or obsolete. It’s like throwing the joker card into a sentence. Like Circumforaneous — to wander from place to place, like Don Quixote’s horse is on another circumforaneous path. (1650 obsolete.) 2. Thankful for these grapes. Ripening nicely. Sweeter than I recall for…
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20 Aug: MicroDosing 100 µg
What Remains When the River Leaves The boy’s blue balloon escaped at the fair, and for three days it floated—over wheat fields, a highway slick with rain, the chimney where it bobbed, hesitant, in the rising heat. On the fourth day, it settled in the branches of a winter-bare oak. A crow pecked it once.…
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19 Aug: A Six Sentence Story
16.1 of 27 – Aetherskein: The Fragment: The Unseen Loom The Shape of a Word 19 August: Back home at an Intersection Named After an English King and a Saint: Brigid opens her journal to a fresh insert — thread-stitched, soft as confession — and when the pen touches cotton paper, a single drop of…
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19 Aug: A Six Sentence Story
16 of 27 – Aetherskein: The Fragment: The Unseen Loom Journal Entry: Beachy Head — 18 August, maybe 19, the moon doesn’t care Where the Thread Ends Twice A ribbon slips ashore at Brigid’s feet — opal-lilac, sea-soaked, old as plague-song — and the tide murmurs her name wrong, like someone remembering it from a…
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18 Aug: Aetherskein – The Liturgy
16 of 27 (Aetherskein) – The Poem – (The Fragment from the Unseen Loom) 16 of 27 The Liturgy for AetherskeinThe Book of 27, Fragment: The Unseen Loom I. The ThreadNot coincidence—a conspiracy of grace.Aetherskein glints where you almost look,where the light bends just so,where the crow drops the same coinin three cities,in three lifetimes,into…
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18 Aug: After the Sway of Summertime
Louis Armstrong’s Ghost is on the Porch Swing(a poem after the sway of Summertime) Heat drips like honeyfrom the sleepy F of the trumpet,your hips unspoolinga blue notebetween a screen door slamand a cricket hymn. Piano keys stickto the backs of your knees,while a bass line digs a gravefor all the unlived livespooling in your…
It's Still Life 