Past midnight, a morpheme slithers from my head. I haven’t found where it comes from nor where it goes. Maybe there are many. It floats away. ... continue reading

The creek's water stopped flowing arcing to reach outside its bed and up against the pear tree, Continue reading "The Pear Bell" ... continue reading

I got something the other day. After a glass of x knows what and four men had to haul the logs out of the corner, we all might say we got something— But really, it was I, I got it. It started when the king fell over. "No way to play chess" I said, referring mostly to myself. But I hadn't pushed him and indeed not a single other game had finished, so they said. I saw a few pretty close to tha ... continue reading

Midnight lost its magic. The parties decease without happiness just Boredom. A skinny, unwashed boy yells at the wrong windows. He'd serenade her if he could find her. Doesn't matter that he can't since any other window'll do ... continue reading

On the night before, I slept very little to ensure I’d sleep the next night. That next night held a flight–an entire night mixed up with invisible hands batting our poor vessel about the sky. Piano sound carries itself winking uponaround three flights of interwoven logs: Trees petrified in preservation of paint and stoic service. It floats into round-edged crevices, fitting log upon, ... continue reading

Between bold last leaves seeps the play of sun. {-} Afternoon autumn, still supporting leaves: their greatest glory d'composition I cast myself without self between, on and through and so all around. Rhythmically, slowly (in innocence of every good word beginning with "b") Riding up--through, the bicyclist: "le merveilleux peuple..." Rhythmically repeating on the rotation of a wheel. So many people ... continue reading

One day we walked from our homes and in our Terror the Raw world disjointed our knees. Hands slipped from our wrists attracted to radiance, which is; and blood, the faucet of is, stopped Itself, an evaporous ink, dried, of the funny valour it once bestowed on avarice. Some plucked it from veins like so many ripe cherries-- little deep rose deities. The ... continue reading

Through its fibrous October the sun commits last night's tides' gifts leftnot, for anyone. but take them as gifts you have yourself, ego--permanent self that cannot fade against a beach's unruliness. reflecting and haling ex and in the breadth and beginning of spoils, ego ticking off. --notice that when you handle a stone from the beach it loses its brightnes ... continue reading

from an old creaking store-front in a row of many others each stocked with man, woman, candy, and woven or wooden crafts. (of their own hands, probably) with faces, eager but friendly for seasonal sales and lugubrious lingerers. Back of each front, store doors swing in for haste. barterers' shelves, sturdily-built so that stores and supplies bemoan their differences, a cleaning bottle, damp ... continue reading