it’s about rhymes. it’s about slightly s[h]ifted echoes of the times we used our hands (for steadier, they were, than feet) to stake our claims and take our stands. but we don’t stay still for long; some of us study the Fleet,…
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?…
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…
for strebka there’s a break in the night where the clouds are split through, and numberless eyes are opened wide. they see with their shining, they look with their light; when they watch they can’t cover, can’t hide. in sky their points…
once, upon the twilight of an age when daylight and delight were long in lasting, and [r]age was rare, and songs were of substance solid enough to softly break our nightly fasting, there was born a boy who bent as freely as…
on steam, on shreds of dream, through air, through stripe and stare, comes (flickering, fluttering, flowering, flying) the drifter who dances with the dying. from dim and distant draws he nearer, nower, closer, clearer; settles on a line of sight, stretches slowings…
“she takes me by the seams, she does, this girl i keep dreaming, and some of me is sated by my somnolence’seeming.” Candorféa connects the dots she’s doodled on her pad, considers them constellarized and frowns – the news is bad. (she’s…