On ‘Daylight’ Time

April 17, 2024 On ‘Daylight’ Time I type and one word catches another’s tail as the other passes quickly,underway to Wordsend.Wordsend stands as a high cliff above,watching the place that is no place,found in every place…staring blunt into that place where all is bound.That end place is one which words may not describe.It is a

Elizabeth and the Witness

Elizabeth and The Witness A tentative, “Hello?”she heard.Elizabeth looked up slowat first repeat of the same word. Knitting to pattern andeager for five minutes break,she rose with the help of one hand,while another massaged a back-ache. Above her head, she could discernthat through the transom came a glowof something interesting to learn,about which, she just

Squirrel On a Fence Post

I am that so grey squirrel,paused on a fence post. Rough dogs are busywith carrionof sorts,which gives me time fora warm ray,and twitching. Spring is not yet herebut will arrive,in time,by whatever egregious meansit must,so,too,with armageddon. I withdraw my sharpenedclaws a moment,wounding onlythis leftover and dried doughnut,from a grease-shack’s kitchen waste,found,down the street. This,is what

What Chapter Are You Reading?

Deft fingers, light puffs of breezelift familiar pagestoward a sun’s benign interrogationwhen readers,for one moment,abandon the book,turn away to fill that cupat another faucetspout. Forever, curious eyesfind the story,someplace forward, perhapsback, it is dependenton luck or God. Meanwhile,excited light bombardstoday, dusting our shroudwith a blue under which,visible movements of leafand worm are lies,teasing that time

That Force Which Through The Green Fuse

(January 18, 2024) Outside,puffed birds are actingcrazy today.Perhapsthey have a temporary blindnessgranted themby whichever, whomever forcecan offer kindness on the one hand as antidote for icy truthheld in another.Maybe the flappersare simple, foolish, joyful?stamping wings the way I would feetto get warm? I am glad the long grasswent to seed,the berries to dry.My ordinary procrastination

The Smallish Artist

December 10 2023 Someday, I will truly understand where I belong, what I should and shouldn’t say in public and whose opinions and actions I should pay attention to. In the meantime, I just say what I like and hope I have good sense. I do care what the world thinks. Perhaps too much. I

Poor Eyesight and the Heart’s Desire

Poor Eyesight and the Heart’s Desire There was a timeI dear remember,when fresh and newwere printed boldupon my private menubut I am older, nowand more mature. I learnedthere is great spoilage risk,after a long dayin the sun or two andtime,a maggot creature,chews away,as they best do,until the darkest eyelashcomes undone, itsglueproved not true. Throughmeasured, ground,high-polished

In Six Seconds, I Will Get Back to You

Many statements trueor notreceive that broad applausewhich indicates, in glitter-sound,alignment with the lawsa group of social voters passwith random muster-calls. It has been saidin public means,writtencrude on walls,that thoughts of sexinvade not womenbut men, most oftenof all. By this belief,it’s every seven seconds then,those full-grown boys,the masculine,think of hairy partsor carnal actsfrom which all living

A Dead Spider

These lines speak of a man whowrote poems in his head all day long.For this fellow, it was ‘twenty four seven’. The poems were observations,points of view,not necessarily uniqueor new,but constant. On one occasion,a very large spider died andhung from its web forseveral days.The season of year was fall,one window was open yetand the inviting

Just Enough Birds

How beautiful the birds wereyesterday. Hard at the work of makingliving lookeasy,the fragile creatures flew back and forth,making a God-awful lotofnoise. The most annoying, repetitive soundswere ones having to dowith territorial rightsand love-making,those two things which I do not have. Jeez. I got up and closed the damn windowbuthow beautiful the birds were. Flashes of