This body, your muted cries -a drying river splitting deep woods,a lowering babble over rounded pebbles.The doe lowering her head, finds dry rock,the rasping tongue on unforgiving stone. Grey clouds that give no respite -your neck in memory, fevered dreams -arching back and forth, hair whipping.Your knees bent alongside rising hips,the fading roar of a … Continue reading The Ninth
Category: Creativity
Equitare Viae Liberum
You are my road. Drawing me away from duty, from purpose, urging me with signs, both clever and obtuse, to roll onto you, take your endless paths and ways, these promises of salvation, change, of adventure without compromise, nor guilt. Begging me to ride you, to be consumed by you. How you rise and fall … Continue reading Equitare Viae Liberum
Horse Hair Skier
Your nails still refuse to drag along my skin. Snow leopard. You... Your nails retracted, tongue curled, folded. Padding away into a mountains dark crevices. Where I, kokburu player, goat tosser extraordinaire, mad skier across Tuvan skies, lasso in hand and elk before me... am still not allowed to pursue. My rope whipping out, unanswered, quivering, inept.
Air
Scudding in metal tubes, breathing in recycled breaths. Spinning turnstiles, merry go rounds, bladed pinwheels. My hands cut open by edged receipts, boarding passes, desperate sketches from forlorn children... missed baseball games, concerts, birthdays and... that soup of missed connections, strange coin, the stares of strangers. Uncomfortable fat neighbor spilling over armrest, we're moaning as … Continue reading Air
We Are in Manic House, Operational and Compromised
Boom, then sounds like shattering glass, fragments of glass, plinking sounds carried on the wind. Boom. Agitated, the city, men with guns rummaging around yards, snipers on rooftop, jumbles of green, black, blue. Shooting. Shooting past walls, reason resistance. Men are hunters, men are chaos shooting. Bombing. Shattering glass. Helicopters split the air, float and … Continue reading We Are in Manic House, Operational and Compromised
Happier Not Throwing
I am running across the dunes falling down the sand, with the flow. You are below, around, behind, I don’t know, mother, father… …you are flowing across the sand with me, away from me, it’s all shifting so smoothly. Once, when I was 8 or 9, (Maybe 10) You took me into the record books, … Continue reading Happier Not Throwing
I Am a Rocking Child, Rolling
I am contained by spit and bailing wire, the old go-cart knocked together from peach crates, roller skates, an old wooden skate affixed with bent nails to peach-stained slats. Rocking down hills, round hairpin turns, skipping cracks and gaps. Memory. Bailing wire and gum, glue, thoughts of you. Cocksure and unafraid. Rickety with memory, bound by … Continue reading I Am a Rocking Child, Rolling
Safe as Houses
stood out, the thief in a mill, safer than mice in cheeses. if it please, then, he still didn't find it, that needle the traveler was peddling, pulling him back outside, boredom a dangerous enemy now met in a narrow street. skipped blithely by the praying pirate, and ran into debt for a little wisdom, … Continue reading Safe as Houses
I Cannot Love Like a Leper
I love like a leper. Putting all the odd bits and bobs of me out on a shelf, an eye, an ear, a favored toe. Hobbling about on twinned islands, made for lamed people like us. Painting other's faces with mercury, gazing with one longing good eye across the strait, from our baths of virgins … Continue reading I Cannot Love Like a Leper
Subjective Grey Matter
Bartholemew expected better - he told K so, in uncertain terms (the voice wavered, of course, doing the immaterial boogaloo). K had taken the wheel, was drifting around the road, crossing lanes with abandon "There's nobody on the road!" gleeful shouting, wide eyed, hair twisting like opposed electrons, wandering along opposite turns - "Look, Locke - … Continue reading Subjective Grey Matter
Writer Moe 