Stop counting

Do not count the minutes the hours the aches of your waiting the distance of touches Do not count the weeks the months the lines around eyelids the hairs turning grey Do not count the years the decades the blinks between birthdays the fathoms of remembering

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Bursting point

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.

Another day

Another day... another day... another day has passed away! Weep! And rejoice! Another day comes this way!

Our epitaphs

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

A Haibun by Bashō

I returned to my old home at the beginning of the ninth month. The day lilies in my mother’s room had all been withered by the frost, and nothing was left of them now. Everything was changed from what it used to be. My brother’s hair was white at the temples, and there were wrinkles… Continue reading A Haibun by Bashō

A short walk

A highway we all walk down: the old, the ugly, the young, and the beautiful. Travelling in the procession; navigating all the shit and the refuse; amidst all the booing and jeering; someone grabs our arm, tells us we are wonderful... and the pageant is glorious!

Every moment: a history

Never forget: every moment ever lived lives on— even long, long after it is forgotten —it lives on.

Personalia (Mary Reufel)

When I was young, a fortune-teller told me that an old woman who wanted to die had accidentally become lodged in my body. Slowly, over time, and taking great care in following esoteric instructions, including lavender baths and the ritual burying of keys in the backyard, I rid myself of her presence. Now I am… Continue reading Personalia (Mary Reufel)

Deserted

You stand alone in a desert surrounded by mirage— you cannot remember how you got here. You travel to a mirage workplace, converse with mirage workmates, share mirage drinks on Friday evenings. You have been servicing a mirage mortgage on a mirage apartment with your mirage dream girl for over seven years now. You are… Continue reading Deserted

How have you blossomed?

Like a new flower unfurling: a dream towards the light. Beyond all obstacles; irrational. Like dried petals beneath the sun: I can only love you.