Many English speakers make the claim, “I sit in front of a screen all day.” This would imply the screen sits behind “me.” Yet, no doubt the screen sits squarely in front of me, even as you read these words from behind yours. Were I the screen, I would instead see a human face in…
My gaze scrapes the blue-gray skyline //
Over scores of peaks and bumps of shadow //
A reservoir peeks out like an alien-Lump, a stumpy kind of ship //
Sitting adrift there on the shore of the broken skyline
Hey, it’s Labor Day! The day we dance So that we can dance With no hard work With no off-timed Time-offs No pied piper to pay No I would rather consume A windsill pie A breeze that wipes my forehead In the remaining heat Dropping promises Of autumn juices So sweet Swapping the bitter times…
gust catches my tongue like tales tied in yarns yet strung or parable naught begun it warns be strong like trees like song stretched on intervals of embarrassed temporariness lo, our emporium of meanings a banquet of searching a furtive yearning while over the years turning pages at a pace hither adhered my soul turns…
Black blue Cheshire grin swings First left, to nine o-clock, then right, to 3 o-clock Fist fights in the saloon Backstreet lampooning strangers in strange shapes Cats dancing degrees in protracted phases of the moon And love lights the lamposts with that glow only the touch of a brush in the eye of O’Keiff could…
