What is it to play the game well? At the root, not to violate the law. The law? To commit the sin of boredom. Whatever’s your game. . . Drinking whiskey on moonlit patios. Having coffee with sparrows that bathe their wings in dirt. Contrived dancing to heartless 80’s music. Organizing the production of persuasive …
If you are the sum of your senses, then you are green – the dominant color of this particular spot. You are a thick gray-white of marine layer above. You are the rapid hum, drum and flap of five kinds of bird wing sounds. You are a breath taken over and over again. The purple …
I am a god mission. I want to own the night and the dawn and the coyote hours. The purple sky along the black horizon. The orange strip above that later. I am the bending, swaying tree when all others stiffen. I fall silent when the bark of reality becomes common story and passed-around dilemma. …
And what are you? Look at your hands. You’re dying. Your shell is cracking and thinning. The purple return vessels are coming to the surface, showing the re-route of depleted blood. What are you? A bag of salt water and plasma churning around nerves and bones. Eyes looking. Absorbing things that seem to matter but …
Seems like it’s always about the sky. The sky above and the sky within.The one within is an area that doesn’t know words.A space free of symbols except for the random shape and feel of gasses.Shades of thinking but no thinking.The stories on the ground wither away, even if they’re carved in limestone.This sky punches …
