redressed

practicing ardor: wearing another’s armor, to show untanned skin.

ghostoratory

if i were a weatherworndowntowner, i would know my way around these streets, and i could show you passages between the pedwalk and the place my local murder meets: “mark the X, then turn left-face and pace a score of leg-lengths,” i might say. “the wall you want’s the one unpainted, grey among the green [. . .]

d[r]owsing

who is prepared? who has concentrated, cared enough to contemplate the consequent events and act around them as they come? (yes: around, not against–it does no good to thrust your fists. destinies, they are not drums.)

we carve our names in would. we couldn’t help but err, we know, we [t]enders of the arc. our [. . .]

Pythia de la parole

click

–let not the perfect be the enemy of the good old boy wonder wall of china plate mail man made to last rites of passage west point blank paper trail of tears in rain dance battle cry like a baby blue sky high and mighty have fallen angels can dance on the head of [. . .]

the waiters

waiting is their work. they wait for presence, for choice, for need. they accommodate both peckishness and greed. they are patient, prompt, informed, invisible, each as currency or course demands. they all have two right hands.

sometimes those they wait on are waiting, too. these sit and wait and look a little blue until their [. . .]

revels at all levels

the pillars of creation billow aeon-long arising, their caryatid clouds concealing depths unplumbed by demiurge devising.

down the milky river swims a swarm of silver stars–aching, every one, with wonder: which will find their planets waking and go gold, become a sun?

Jupiter is made of weather; it’s raining tacks & gods.

against all odds, [. . .]

material['s pr]ism

some things are stolen. some things are steel. some things keep rolling, even where they aren’t real. some things are heavy. some things are handed. some things are desired, and others demanded. some things are seams, and hold pieces together. some things are dreams made of inclement whethers. some things are thoughts, and some things [. . .]