And there is bark beneath your fingers. Readable, the way Braille is readable - as long as you have a mirrored codex living under your skin. And in a forest, with book upon book, a formed library, perhaps cathedral - in various states of growth and decay. They are one thing, they are another, mirrored … Continue reading SCIENTIA TEMPORIS
Tag: creative writing
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.
In the Fall
And in the fall we go raking,bamboo-toothed tools ripping up the dry grass,sweeping leaves that crackle when dry -black spots amongst the hues of red and yellow,the camouflage of New England hills and dalesrustling under feet. And in the fall we go burning,burning,burning -the pits and chimneysturning seeds, water, earthinto heat, soot, blowing ash. And … Continue reading In the Fall
the echoing shore
Then there will be a sound,the thunder across the water,the cracking of the ice,the cackle of the clairvoyant -the whistle in a dark alleyAnd the sudden stopof ticking clocksBunin’s rageat marital order,Nin’s heatalong a geographic border -But, where does it begin?Whose voice is that, callingout along the river?What footsteps drag and dredge,quiver and disorderordered stones … Continue reading the echoing shore
a river in my hands
Rattling around…rattling around…somewhere in my head thissound is rattling,breathing, likea living thing…. This sound, breathingmurmuring…living river,which tumbles rocks,carries white, rising foamand eager swimmers This river full,life, verdant, green rootsgrasses on the bank,the slippering, long, thickfishwriggling into the muck,riding the curves, the… Water flowing, veinsof blood, of water,coursing through wantonbeating, ragingheart,this primal ride,the murmur risingto screamraging, … Continue reading a river in my hands
Burning Autumn
In the autumn, with leaves burning, safety as children running embers floating in the air. And I am burning leaves again. The tulips i pulled from your garden how you say me hiding, behind our pine. Eyes wide. Knowing that you were one person. And about to become another. How. You. Yelled. And how it … Continue reading Burning Autumn
Just Some Time
Just some dumb counter encounter, me and my old doppelganger, this dusty man, wry eyed in the mirror, wishing the kale juice was something higher test. Gotta flush those toxins, baby, gotta pretend the lastnightlastdecade didn't happen. And there's that kid moving into view, sliding up next to him, flat noted whistle, sly look, he whispers: … Continue reading Just Some Time
A Ballerina, On a Shaking Shore
for W. C. Williams, and some others There is a flickering of midnight torches along the edges of Atlantic beaches, these shuttering retreats, ghosted fall houses of Eastham, Wellfleet's quiet drive-in, Truro's barque emerging above the waterline. Oh, Newman, what bitter jokes, and shambling hallos you wave, across a rocky continent, toes that know Pacifica … Continue reading A Ballerina, On a Shaking Shore
Dark Waters
On the banks of the enormous Oguta lake we buried the dead, we buried the memories of the living, and the dead. The Black Scorpion scuttling On the banks of the enormous Oguta lake. Oh goddess, oh Uhamiri, we see you in the mists that rise - thin fingers grasping at the sun to pull … Continue reading Dark Waters
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
Writer Moe 