Tag: a.i.Art
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The Old Woman With No Cat
The Weatherman Exposed(A Feline Inquiry into Atmospheric Fraud) The cat sits before the telly,tail curled like suspicionas a man in a nice jacket points at a mapcovered in swirls and damp-looking arrows. “This man,” the cat begins,“calls himself a weatherman.Yet the rain continues.The wind howls like cousin Ralph,and my patio is wet.” The Old Woman…
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0407: Violet’s Phraseology
A Persistent Syllable not overnight,not immediate,gradual,like a shadow’s slow wrap around a flagpole,like the tap’s persistent syllablecounting out moments. No more today, she says,and closes her book,as if a page holds a boundaryagainst the drip,the drift,the soft unravelof sight. Would you mind, love,chopping the onions?I don’t thinkI should. All the words we hear.All the sounds…
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3006: The Liturgy
Liturgy for His Return, Cagnes-sur-Mer (Summer 1842 — Where the road remembers him) I. The Hill That Has Grown SteeperI found the hill steeper than I remembered,or else I had brought backless of myself than I meant to. This is what a year does.This is what the navy does.This is what it meansto be carried…
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2906: The Liturgy
Liturgy for the Year of His Absence(Cagnes-sur-Mer, Winter 1842 — Waiting Becomes a Way of Life) I. The Question That Never Leaves Where is Felreil? Not a question of geography.Not a question of distance.A question of existence:whether the world still holds him,whether the shadows have released him,whether he is still stridingin his English-blackened bootsthrough streets…
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The Old Woman With No Cat
The Great Digging Mystery(Or: A Cane Corso’s Underground Ambitions) The cat sits on the fence post,high, safe,watching Crymych,the Italian mastiff with the Welsh name,dig a hole in his garden.Deep.Determined.Earth flying like brown bag confetti. The Old Woman appears with her tea.“What’s he doing?” The cat doesn’t look away.“That, Old Woman,is the question of the hour.Is…
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2706: dVerse Ars Poetica
Ars Poetica: The Yew This is a tree.But this is not about the tree,and it’s not about that summer,or the forest behind our house,or the Japanese maplethat Dad naileda birdhouse on. Nails.Crucified.Like Jesus. I called itthe Jesus Treeafter that. And it’s not aboutthe huckleberriesI ate before chasingsomething. Something — I can’t recall what. Always runningbeneath…
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2206: The Liturgy
Liturgy for a Long Absence — Cagnes-sur-Mer, 1836 – 1841 Where Waiting Is Believing I. The Winter That SettledWinter settled into the stone cottagelike a tenant who refuses to leave.The vines are bare,brittle,skeletal.Their fingers scratching at the skyand demanding warmththe season refuses to give. Even the small angelic statuesin the garden grimace at the cold,their…
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The Old Woman With No Cat
The Welcome Gift(Or: How to Empty a Sardine Tin with Dignity) The cat stands at the fence,tail high,expression beatific,a tin of French sardines clutched in his jaws,empty, of course.Carefully emptied.Licked clean with the reverenceof a monk at prayer. He places it delicately on the top rail,nudges it toward the dog’s side,and steps back, expectant. “A…
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1706: dVerse Quadrille
Mythic An old woman tells a storywhile rain taps the window. The children lean in closer. The wolf is gone, she says,though the forest remains. The facts have long sincevanished, but the myth remains —sitting by the firewarming his furry paws. Written for dVerse Quadrille “myth” 44-words sans title. Some images created with Midjourney; all…
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1506: The Liturgy
Part 13: Liturgy for the Beaucaire Fair(for those who buy and those who are bought) I. The Commerce of CrowdsThe fairground swallows them whole.Brigid and Felreil, two more bodiesin the great migration of need and greed. Trestle tables groan under linen and lace,under knives that promise to never dull,under potions that promise to never fail.Merchants…
It's Still Life 