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three legs in the evening

it has to be natural to fall into neat routines, grocery lists, business casual clothes. as hair turns to winter its a biological process, i think. but i have to wonder if wonder is the causalty. must it always be? do sunsets extinguish curiosity? does age consume our dreams? are riddles the science of aged …

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oh, little star

as though waves washing back from obsidian shores the clouds reveal you i heard their hastening upon the wind. i know what you are, now; and yet, the twirling galaxy in my chest this interstellar gravitas plucks the awe in me like sea stars dusts my dreams with pearls. june 28, 2022. 10:08pm.

dearly beloved

A gentle melody that nudges— awakens, a memory it wasn’t love then, not yet just a noncommittal thought that you would always be there. The tune was dusty, metallic a music box phantom from somewhere the ashes of ashes vibrating soft melancholy of a forgotten matter of fact. to the unconditional love between a child …

me, personally

im tired of being okay with things im not okay with. the Congo Rainforest is being raped by sleazy companies and desperate bushmen California teachers marooned in parent's living rooms, the flag half-mast for a queen a queen in a nation of babbling democratic zealots; and it's funny, in that helpless sort of way. "sometimes …

tribute to Stevie Wonder

Ta-nehisi called it Mecca his Hampton University where the negro gunslinger waltzes with cotillion debutante I've found it here scatting on stage in black revelry a sweaty trumpet pleads: "love's in need of a little love today love is in need." Meyerson Hall held a sing-a-long tribute to the classics sung by Stevie Wonder. somehow, …

rue

a nudge at the hide of the sleeping bear i languish after that beast of inspiration yet, as with Wordsworth the thing appears to have run from my frailty rather than devouring me whole. writing is so very elusive at times. I remember childhood when I was bursting full of stories. now, I must purposefully …

mercy

1. dime si no es verdad que una flor es nada más una flor y el valor que tiene se lo hemos dado, así como le petit prince atesoraba su única flor la suya— 2. de tal manera recuerda el vecino gusano que cuida los lirios juega con los niños y después se le arrastra …

from the airplane

Peering through a crack in the sky, from a seat on AA2658, the enso etched by the steady hand of Amaterasu my eyes are blinded— burning tundra, mountains of lava and dust visages of red thunder rumbling soveign across the clouds. written the last time I saw my sister.