The world has always been this way —it’s only now that I can see. Children in their endless bubbles bound about like tiny giants; living lives that stretch far beyond their bursting point. All I do to console myself is admire such ferocious will.
I am cold fingertips pressed against a soft, mochi thigh; an obnoxious, novelty alarm clock. You are legs kicking under duvet sheets when I yell not to move! We are the fart you let out when shocked awake: we are momentarily trapped – warm and familiar – and though we will soon dissipate and be… Continue reading What happens under covers
Another day... another day... another day has passed away! Weep! And rejoice! Another day comes this way!
There are no wild geese performing semaphore to inform us of our place in any family of noble ideas. Here, pigeons hobble on their mangled feet, devouring public waste, and anything too weak to drag itself back to safety. No cave hides behind any waterfall for office workers to clamber into and cry for their… Continue reading Do not click here
Dearly beloved, we are gathered here—date and time incalculable—to commemorate the passing of our one and only, our Everything. Taken from us far too soon, yet now at rest. Bow your heads before the final procession of innumerable pantheons! Nursemaids to every human privation, resplendent in their finest regalia; children of a golden light scattered… Continue reading Eulogy for the World
Common table sugar dissolving into mouthfuls of plain, sour yoghurt; your kisses after an argument, knowing the fights will continue after the make-up sex —galaxies dying on my tongue.
Get up from your bed, go out from your house, follow the path you know so well, so well that you now see nothing and hear nothing unless something can cry loudly to you, and for you it seems even then no cry is louder than yours and in your own darkness cries have gone… Continue reading Waking (by David Whyte)
Do not speak of Charon, or any cold marble thing: that’s all just Greek to me. Your grandiloquent amphitheaters— columns and rows of allusion—only tease at monument. They ruin this moment. You are in your twenties and worry about the colour of parkas... how many people will attend your party... Find a homely metaphor I… Continue reading Our epitaphs
The time comes... and the time comes... and it just keeps coming... then it’s your time; the time comes... then the next time, though you’re not there to see the time coming... it just keeps on coming.
stretched out golden in summer sun lounging in his dusty court I’m jealous of such a royal life— a flea-bitten stray still waiting for an owner