Ben Hill must be loving today (i.e. flag overload)!
Monday, May 31, 2010
Sunday, May 30, 2010
Stranger Cats
"Deux in May"
Springtime Stranger Cats
Come Calling.
Knot-hole animals &
Jam jars filled with juice.
Twisting & Shouting
under pale Moonlight.
Apple Pie Americana &
Scream singing.
Breathless pixie cuts &
Train-track gardens.
Unadulterated sass &
Irrational spermaphobia.
Comfort food & kitchen floors.
The Mayor walks.
Friday, May 28, 2010
Gift from the Sea
"The sea does not reward those who are too anxious, too greedy, or too impatient. To dig for treasures shows not only impatience and greed, but lack of faith. Patience, patience, patience, is what the sea teaches. Patience and faith. One should lie empty, open, choiceless as a beach -- waiting for a gift from the sea."
-A.M. Lindbergh
Thursday, May 27, 2010
Tiger Maple
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
Cool Schmool
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
Eleven Traps to Avoid
Favorite "Traps": "Authority," "Hero" and "Threat." Maury Povich-anti-stranger propaganda-fanaticism.
Monday, May 24, 2010
Sunday, May 23, 2010
On Parade
"Wheel of Steel"
Brick-oven brother meetings,
spent in the company of Mexican Coke
and ebullient individuals.
Dim candle glows are capable
of breeding exponential comfort.
"Sheltered eggs" and clouded coffee.
Hand-holding through school yards
filled with Jetson bicycles, leaden desk fans,
and postcards from paradise.
Bypassed ice cream walks; patiently nursing.
One-ring circus of big-hearts.
Essence factories and Anywhere in America.
Unselfish desserts.
Friday, May 21, 2010
Thursday, May 20, 2010
Children of Fatima
"The Lorraine Region"
Blind-baked,
and filled with things
that can't surpass
the beauty of hands
and heart that create.
Sainted miracles, O Milagre do Sol,
and group hysteria ghost stories,
tinted by red wine and paintings
that resemble rotting flesh
and knifed eyes.
"Thank you for taking me
from my monastery.
I was dying to get out."
Sleep walking
into dreams.
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
Monday, May 17, 2010
Sunday, May 16, 2010
Nautilus
"Bee Sticks"
Wright here,
shared sustenance devolves
to moonlit strolls
which feel as full as
well-fed bellies.
Hunting for cake boxes
is analogous
to thinning the herd.
Learning that imperfection
is perfect.
Red Velvet teamwork,
harmless paper bees,
and yellow waxed flowers.
Dog City,
on a blanket built for two.
Mittelschmerz,
mid-century decor,
and a spaghetti jar
filled with virginal peonies.
"I once had a dream,"
blasting on Sunday mornings,
takes my mind home.
Friday, May 14, 2010
Dedication(s)
"Super 8/Uncoordinated"
Garnering line drawings
of Painted Ladies (in autumnal shades)
and unpopped kernels
in printed feedsacks.
Humid flashbacks
of being knocked over by waves,
quintessential grandmothers,
and little girls
in silver spray-painted boxes.
Falling curtains.
Natural performances in Kodachrome.
....................................................................................
"Dedication to M" by Rainer Maria Rilke
Swing of the heart. O firmly hung, fastened on what
invisible branch. Who, who gave you the push,
that you swung with me into the leaves?
How near I was to the exquisite fruits. But not-staying
is the essence of this motion. Only the nearness, only
toward the forever-too-high, all at once the possible
nearness. Vicinities, then
from an irresistibly swung-up-to place
-already, once again, lost-the new sight, the outlook.
And now: the commanded return
back and across and into equilbrium's arms.
Below, in between, hesitation, the pull of earth, the passage
through the turning-point of the heavy-, past it: and the
catapult stretches,
weighted with the heart's curiosity,
to the other side, opposite, upward.
Again how different, how new! How they envy each other
at the ends of the rope, these opposite halves of pleasure.
Or, shall I dare it: these quarters?-And include, since it
witholds itself,
that other half-circle, the one whose impetus pushes the
swing?
I'm not just imagining it, as the mirror of my here-and-now
arc. Guess nothing. It will be
newer someday. But from endpoint to endpoint
of the arc that I have most dared, I already fully possess it:
overflowings from me plunge over to it and fill it,
stretch it apart, almost. And my own parting,
when the force that pushes me someday
stops, makes it all the more near.
....................................................................................
"Dedication to M" by Rainer Maria Rilke
Swing of the heart. O firmly hung, fastened on what
invisible branch. Who, who gave you the push,
that you swung with me into the leaves?
How near I was to the exquisite fruits. But not-staying
is the essence of this motion. Only the nearness, only
toward the forever-too-high, all at once the possible
nearness. Vicinities, then
from an irresistibly swung-up-to place
-already, once again, lost-the new sight, the outlook.
And now: the commanded return
back and across and into equilbrium's arms.
Below, in between, hesitation, the pull of earth, the passage
through the turning-point of the heavy-, past it: and the
catapult stretches,
weighted with the heart's curiosity,
to the other side, opposite, upward.
Again how different, how new! How they envy each other
at the ends of the rope, these opposite halves of pleasure.
Or, shall I dare it: these quarters?-And include, since it
witholds itself,
that other half-circle, the one whose impetus pushes the
swing?
I'm not just imagining it, as the mirror of my here-and-now
arc. Guess nothing. It will be
newer someday. But from endpoint to endpoint
of the arc that I have most dared, I already fully possess it:
overflowings from me plunge over to it and fill it,
stretch it apart, almost. And my own parting,
when the force that pushes me someday
stops, makes it all the more near.
Thursday, May 13, 2010
Clever Nettle
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
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