Cryptic can seem pretentious.That owl is hunting every night, but I see it only five times a year. I’m taken care of by generations of workers – as are you.I’m the product of chip manufacturers and farmers.Computers and tractors.MRIs and hammers.Sweat and blood.I am the journeywork of the stars – as are you. I’m here …
A poor girl is dazzled by wealth.A rich one is bored with two thousand dollar hand bags. A painter struggles to keep the image of pink clouds alive.A writer hoards a hundred bookmarks to stitch thoughts together. A full moon plunges into the southwestern horizon, keeping time with the wobble of the earth.A sun rises …
As an adult, you pretend you don’t know where anything is.Where are my keys?What’s my password?What is this life and where is it going? As a toddler, you know everything.In months you mapped the house.You know how it all works.The clothes cleaning apparatus is down there.The books are here.Night nights is cozy there.The adults go …
And the sky births things that would be comforting in death.Death but a process from one place to another. Jets like thorns floating across with slight thundering echoes.But those merely a distraction. The real births being shades of every color not known in a fashion boutique.Clouds divided by perfect disorganization.Rows of marching gray ripple.What could …
What is the process of waking up in the morning? Addition. Of adding on an alarm bell or a funky sound or a radio station. Or, of allowing someone else to do the adding – as in a leaf blower, a jack hammer or a crow fight. A stretching perhaps. Deep breathing. Layering on a …
