Tag: a.i.Art
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The Old Woman With No Cat
The Old Woman Arrives Fashionably Late to Her Exorcism the ghost taps its foot.“you were supposed to be here at midnight.” the old woman checks her watch—a thrift-store relic,its hands permanently stuck at almost. “traffic,” she lies. the neighbour’s cat (her ride-or-die)hisses at the holy water font,then knocks it over. for fun. the priest sighs.…
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13.05: Elegy for the Grounded
This is a four-part Prosery, each one less than 144 words, written for dVerse Poets, and including the phrase “I have no skills for flight or wings to skim the waves effortlessly, like the wind itself.” from the poem “The Magnificent Frigatebird,” by Ada Limon An Elegy for the Grounded I. The Veil Tree She…
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13 May: The Old Woman With No Cat
The Old Woman Considers Aphids and the Meaning of Lunch the lupins tremble under their tiny, hungry gods—green stems bowing like philosopherswho’ve just realisedthey’re also on the menu. “to be eaten,” the old woman muses,“is just another way of being useful.” the cat (still not hers, never hers)flicks an ear:“spoken like someonewho’s never been licked.”…
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11.05 The Old Woman With No Cat
The Old Woman and the Wayward Compass the compass hums in her hand—not north,not south,just toward. its needlequivers like a dowser’s rod. “useless,” snorts the cat,“unless toward means tuna.”the robin, nostalgic for linearity, chirps: “back in my day,we had four whole directions—” “shush,” smiles the old woman,planting the compass in the gardento see what grows.…
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10.06 The Old Woman With No Cat
Dead Woman and the Cat’s Morning Doctrine the cat—still not hers, never hers—strikes across the kitchen counterlike anarchy, knocking over the salt shaker,the sugar bowl,and the old woman’s last clean spoon. the old woman, sipping coffeedark as a black hole’s résumé,watches the cat’s carnage. “you’re technically a natural disaster.”the cat pauses, and stares. “and you’re…
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09.5: The Old Woman With No Cat
The Old Woman Declares the Milk is Still Cold she presses the glass bottle to her cheek—a trial by touch, a verdict rendered:“still cold.” the cat (still not hers, but always judging)flicks its tail like a metronome set to skepticism:“prove it.” so she does: exhibit a:the condensation’s slow slide,thick as honey. exhibit b:the fridge light’s…
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dVerse Quadrille #223
A Soft Breath on the Veil Tangle me gently—between thorn and thread,between the prayerand the thingthat answers. Not every shadowwants to bite. Some wait patientlyto be named,to be known,to be pulledlike a stitchfrom the mouthof a long sleeping god. Written for dVerse Poets Quadrille #223 “Tangle”. Some artwork is created using Midjourney AI, and is identified as…
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07.05: The Old Woman With No Cat
The Old Woman and Appendix C: Loopholes as love language the old woman underlines:“by consuming this product, you agreeto everything found inspite, loopholes, andthe neighbour’s unsecured wifi.” the cat (still not hers, legally speaking)paws at clause 4.2: liability for falling objects—“define object,” it scoffs,knocking over a vase.“define falling.” the crow, ever the contract killer,drops black’s…
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03.05: The Old Woman With No Cat
The Old Woman and a Rebellion of Tenderness the old woman with no cathas a pocket full of seeds. she plants themin the cracks between bricks,in every unread newspaper,in every unanswered letter. she’ll let them split the sidewalks,she tells the crow. she knows how magic works—it’s just like a weedthat someone decides to love. it…
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2 May: dVerse First Line Poem
The Trees Are Whispering Your Name “The trees are coming into leafLike something almost being said—” Like the pause before I love you,Like the breath before a sob,Like the way your hands hoveredOver my ribs— Are you sure you want all this light?The trees unfold,Show me their green ink blots:Here’s where she laughed in her…
It's Still Life 