she couldn’t walk; she couldn’t stand. i held her tiny life in my two hands. the mother and the others, gone by night away. this one left in the nest in the light of the day. no pity, no guilt, no nudge…
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…
they see him, and they stare. the mighty among them look on and despair. how many shocks will one sunrise bring? but such is the way of the desert’s first king. for Sphynx is a lion beneath the man-mask, and this answers…
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.…
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…
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…
in the warming season i tried to gain a higher eye, learning how it feels to stand between the earth and sky: across the meadow, but more _through_, past sunblonde spotless stalks i walk to where the tree stands, seeming lone, grownextothrough…