I think about sitting beneath a tree, with everyone I love.
It’s an old tree, its roots gnarled and displacing the ground
like ravenous hydras mining deep below the surface.
Further down, their capillaries branch off, soaking in nutrients from the surrounding soil.
And gradually, my friends depart, a loving embrace, eyes aflame with eternity for the knowledge
that we each have embedded in one another, and the promise of future meetings,
enraptured in the boughs of some distant cypress or oak.
And we leave, passing, only water thru the soil, while the tree remains for many years and then dies.
My new kitty Artemis, hunting for mysteries.
Forsaken,
Born of wolves,
We glimpse refractions of the mother.
Sorrow taints man.
Longing for a sovereign kiss
Anxiety is unpleasant at the best of times. Divided self, moments of second guessing, need to be ruled out. I let something take over for a while too long, and it feeds, holds tight to the walls of my shell. I know how to defeat it, but it always seems so much simpler than it is, always returning. The only way is to make sure you always do what you need to do. That’s all.
This is my new typewriter, it brings much joy with its clickity clacking and bright orange facade
I hope the tide comes in fast, sweeps us off our feet. Leaves us languishing, steals our ribbons, washes them under. The faint smell of juniper lingering in the air and folding inward towards us. I hope the boat leaves, I hope we drown. Passing time, My grip strains, I find you reminiscing. Somewhere you live like an asteroid. I feel you, I stretch to find myself falling. Someone simple says you flew away. I wonder what noise a bird makes when it dies.
It was summertime, June 14. But I was on the other side of the ocean. Sometimes the lilting breeze called out to me from a distant glade, not often, but sometimes. The Sky was grey. I saw a pigeon step into freshly laid cement. A star fissure formed in its eye. No one saw.