Oh for these last gray days and new moons. For Orion’s belt in the north, in the night. For our yard leaning on its side and the papery brown fronds hanging down. For the milky sun and messy watercolor blues,… Read More ›
winter
The 1 o’clock IPA
The day was so dark it hardly felt like the day. The Internet was down again, a desperate feeling over the house, something was off. He talked to the man about a job, talked to him through a text message,… Read More ›
Retreat, to the dark
The backbone of a cottonwood on the clouds, a fossil through my window — The nail of the moon, cupping the weight of the sky, low-lidded demon, jeweled crown. Hands sticking out of trees, green hands and fingers, quiet hillsides… Read More ›
Song for winter
The ocean pounds the rocks and the sky’s gone to slate, and it’s the sound of lovers dashed to pieces, in the mist: and it’s all we ever wanted, to disappear to the roar of the applause and go back… Read More ›
When night falls like this: life, in black and white
The streets are gray and everything on the edges has gone to brown, might be dead, hangs on waiting, like us. Looks dead, probably isn’t. I stare out the window at work and night has started at 4 o’clock. It… Read More ›
Last Import
The screen has gone white, and snow is expected to return. The commuters are back, and make sounds like waves against the wall, below. It is just me and the heater, with the tick-tock of a clock, the Christmas tree,… Read More ›
Bill Pearse 