Never the Headlamps

Again today a study proves our immortality. To run, however long, reduces the risk of death by twenty percent in a sample of two hundred fifty thousand. And now they are running. Running against the certain stone. Running slim trails of hope, gathering ticks as they brush the closing blades. The path gets thinner, old […]

Imagining a Girl

She had a long bore smile, a smoker’s laugh, and a posture born of whips and taking it. She had a red onion mind, a carrion wit, three prison-ink vines on her hip. Her scent – a pudding of ash and caramel, hints of road slag, burnt rubber and mint. She’ll cut your face for […]

Strata

I lay a palm on a wall of quartzite, red, unhewn and beckoning my lips to count the strata, number each compression from heel to nail, down below the rooted fissure, up above the quiet smirk of a creek – one hundred. And as I drag my eyes upward, to where the scrub oak and […]

Mine Eyes

Sing forth the treasons, the seasons have been sung long before revolting – D minored the winter, G majored the spring… Beh, the seasons never heard these grovelling breaths, but sucked them deaf up. Give lung to the unbreathed rumors squat below the bridge, these tumors unskinned, revealed pulsing on our red, white – blue […]

On Stillness and Turbulence

At the still axis of revolution, about which our tortures churn, the pure and toddler self remains, present and young, uncoiled, unlearned. Such that a top, spinning, poised gyroscopic on a point, traces a path on a floor, spiraled to the delight of a child’s fresh gums attentive, must wobble in the end, must with […]

Plainsong #2 – a pastoral

Herefords lying down, asses to the wind – this bodes of rain. Cloud gray and anvil, clobber shot and some ways off, a cliff falls precipitous. There’s manure in the air because it’s November and the harvest is in. There’s manure in the air for the fields need a feed before snow tangles the greeds […]

A Hunger Assuaged

Come to me vagrant, O Death: starved of bone, starved of lung, dime-eyed and savage. Do not come to me gorged and gorgeous, for it is only when you have known true hunger, withered to a stalk, submitted to beggary and stale breads, you may come to my door, my table. It will be then, […]