Caught under the haze of morning the web of dreams I forgot who I was the name of the day where to step down In that liminal place feet hung dragged through air And the mind receded to give way… Read More ›
poetry
What a sad, lonely day when I walk through the park
and a young man cuts the grass on the trail up ahead all he does is pause to loosen a clump of wet grass but he makes a point to smile and wave as I pass yet one day I… Read More ›
The twos and threes
There is something about the twos and threes that gets mixed. One week ago is clear, two weeks is too, but now that I get to three I’m not sure, was it two weeks ago you left, or more? As… Read More ›
17th and Spring
Like so much folly and confetti the cherry blossoms are back and scattered in the grass, for it is May and spring and I am a young man living in a rental, just 26. There is a courtyard no one… Read More ›
Last visit to Prague
It was strange to be in Prague again wandering like a tourist down that cobblestone street past the church, the old clocks, the streetcar tracks. Strange to be with a friend I hadn’t seen for so long but stranger still… Read More ›
Song for replenishment
Let us be near the water and not want for anything else In the morning when the sun lights the tops of the tall trees and they burn like a candle to the bottom Let us be near the water… Read More ›
Old to begin
How is it I have grown old, old in the best of ways they call “aged” and priced and valued as such, and hard to find. How is it I have grown old and at the same time renewed, this… Read More ›
When the amber alert woke us at 3:43
We thought it was nuclear war and wished we’d bought more water and planned for this but instead it was just the life of some kid we didn’t know, not our own And we went back to bed with the… Read More ›
The weight of all we felt
This day could be drawn in pencil it’s so drab. The roads are wet with rain and the leaves are down, the birch with their spindly arms and dragon eyes, a tangle of dead leaves, a lone bird…this feeling of… Read More ›
On the 5-7-5
Morning’s solemn moon sliver of your former selflow lidded and crude
Bill Pearse 