Oh, my love, the world goes by, The night nears gone, the day draws nigh, And I am wandering alone — In a speeding blur, in my seat alone. Oh, my love, there’s a certain buzz, Like a great beyond, or the big because: Where discovery’s not a fearful thing, And words are more feeling …
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this weight my soul it reaches helplessly for thought for role for ease for urgency and though in still after the cooling rains the restless will rejoinders and remains this weight my soul comes evening to attest in part or whole for better or for best connections lost mid atrophy and troll the too-great cost …
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Many people carry around two certainties: that you cannot know what it is like to be them, but that they know what it is like to be you. The fact that there are rather obvious logical difficulties with this position in no way dissuades people from holding it. The intensity of our reactions to things …
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A meditation on our role in the choices available to us
a traveler, who takes it in and spills it out in all these words, is no more than a charlatan: a raven among brighter birds, a mountebank in camera, a faker on the take, who kids himself that this makes sense with thoughts not yet to bake. a wanderer, who sees all this, but cannot …
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my fingers lightly trace the shape of sun-washed shoulders as you lay upon a towel beside a summer lake your eyes are closed your head upon your hands and you are murmuring and i cannot say how long it will take for me to show you how i feel to transmit through these fingers all …
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The maple trees have formed an arch That leads us to our room and bed; A quaint old house from 1910, With yellowed photos, quilted spread, And pancakes stacked on pancakes when We rise from wonder in the night, A perfect sweetness in our mouths Like love that knows when to be Light
my love, you knew me in the frost and held me warm as you could hold; my love, you gave me everything: a home and walls against the cold now biting is the winter’s wrath, sub-zero like the arctic dawn, but colder still a fireside ablaze, but now that you are gone
stems or out of spinning wonder collocated dancing preening sharp like crack of early thunder derelict in point or meaning you the magic worker shameless they the audience enraptured this the day and worktime aimless those the moments left uncaptured on a street of ever forward every vigilant and humming i in hunger looking onward …
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