What’s wrong, you ask.
I’ve breathed your dream too
long, I say. Now I must wake.
Da Vinci maintained that sight relies on the eye’s central line, yet the threads holding my ocular buttons in place weave through four holes and terminate in a knot. My … Continue reading
What is a ghost if not misplaced energy, an apprehension or the sum of invisible integers and the properties they possess? I preside over this sea of maize, tracking clouds, … Continue reading
A father sings to his son, dead two days, and the platitudes persist. Widow of night. Lantern’s trick. What trace, you wonder, exists of humanity in these etched walls? Light … Continue reading
Dear Daniel: How fortunate we are to tap into this medium of ether and zeros and ones and all the combinations employed in our paperless context. I am drawn to … Continue reading
Or a restless leaf, a footprint. Is fault on a blameless day, scrawled on a washed-out sky. My friend’s music orbits his home, worms through the cracks in … Continue reading
How convenient to carry a home on one’s back, I think, disregarding heft and plumbing and the shape of rooms too hollow to feel. Yesterday a box of African chapbooks … Continue reading
Originally posted on O at the Edges:
Self-Portrait with Knife Lacking benefit of prayer or belief, it slips through flesh, praising its temerity. Or, parting the onion’s core, reclaims the…