The Twelth

This kiss, this sun on skin,breaking leaves give way to heavy steps.This path a mirrored dream,These brambles rip, tear - kiss. The broken skin, sky ripping. Shouting. Crackling.                  Burning.My mind full of an echoing shout:your words a scornful lecture, fading.The distant voices. The chorus of morning.

A Machine, For Time

Ronald Mallett I know you as I know James Tate. And now, people known to me... Jess, Kevin, whipped through this same centrifuge. We are on the edge of forever. Know that we are running like gerbils, in this same recursive loop. I wish I could talk to you. That our running could intersect, and - perhaps … Continue reading A Machine, For Time