Saturday, December 31, 2011
12.31.11
the slam, the crash, the break of it
[waves to the shore]
crack of shells and tiny pebbles
[sand is everywhere]
all the tea in the world will never be enough
and the freighter on the horizon speeds out to sea
another new year's eve far from shore
[waves to the shore]
crack of shells and tiny pebbles
[sand is everywhere]
all the tea in the world will never be enough
and the freighter on the horizon speeds out to sea
another new year's eve far from shore
Friday, December 30, 2011
Thursday, December 29, 2011
12.29.11
republic, lost
butcher shops, basements, and masquerades
invisible and unmoored (?)
tornadoes, wonder-walls, and fierce tears
the distraction of their time
the cat is running towards or away in her sleep
her feet seem to be saying, "we have come so far,
it can't be over"
we have talked our extinction to death.
butcher shops, basements, and masquerades
invisible and unmoored (?)
tornadoes, wonder-walls, and fierce tears
the distraction of their time
the cat is running towards or away in her sleep
her feet seem to be saying, "we have come so far,
it can't be over"
we have talked our extinction to death.
Wednesday, December 28, 2011
Sunday, December 25, 2011
12.25.11
postcards from Arizona. Christmas Day.
every rock here calls to be climbed. (me, I think of all the snakes hiding in the crevices. I'm sorry. I can't help it.) I've heard scorpions sleep under the bark of the cottonwood trees.
today's trail: mostly juniper and pinon. and the largest spider web I've ever seen. a shape the size of a golfball bouncing in the middle.
there was one small cloud in all the blue sky. all day.
I sat on rocks, feet bare and ate chocolate.
the day disintegrated into family crushed into the den watching Bollywood & me, hiding,
headphones on, blasting organ music, and here, these few clumsy stumbling words.
every rock here calls to be climbed. (me, I think of all the snakes hiding in the crevices. I'm sorry. I can't help it.) I've heard scorpions sleep under the bark of the cottonwood trees.
today's trail: mostly juniper and pinon. and the largest spider web I've ever seen. a shape the size of a golfball bouncing in the middle.
there was one small cloud in all the blue sky. all day.
I sat on rocks, feet bare and ate chocolate.
the day disintegrated into family crushed into the den watching Bollywood & me, hiding,
headphones on, blasting organ music, and here, these few clumsy stumbling words.
Saturday, December 24, 2011
Friday, December 23, 2011
12.23.11
postcard from arizona. again.
sometimes the Sugar Plum Fairy misses a step &
we're all left with that feeling that something's missing
among all the tinsel & gold-wrapped chocolates &
voices raised in prayer & song that ring hollow &
even the very air outside is empty. cold. tasting of metal &
all the thousand thousand words that slid & dipped & sank
never really saying what was meant. never really meaning
what was said.
sometimes the Sugar Plum Fairy misses a step &
we're all left with that feeling that something's missing
among all the tinsel & gold-wrapped chocolates &
voices raised in prayer & song that ring hollow &
even the very air outside is empty. cold. tasting of metal &
all the thousand thousand words that slid & dipped & sank
never really saying what was meant. never really meaning
what was said.
Thursday, December 22, 2011
Wednesday, December 21, 2011
Tuesday, December 20, 2011
12.20.11
postcard from Arizona #3
no sunrise today but fat clouds snow-heavy
split into shreds at noon - stripes of blue
vast waves of shoppers weighed down with bags
above the blare of parking lots - mountains. snow-dusted.
no sunrise today but fat clouds snow-heavy
split into shreds at noon - stripes of blue
vast waves of shoppers weighed down with bags
above the blare of parking lots - mountains. snow-dusted.
Monday, December 19, 2011
12.19.11
a postcard from Arizona #2.
fog this morning hid mountains, mesas.
afternoon sun melted the last of the snow.
sun sank early into wind from the north &
the yips and howls of coyotes.
fog this morning hid mountains, mesas.
afternoon sun melted the last of the snow.
sun sank early into wind from the north &
the yips and howls of coyotes.
Sunday, December 18, 2011
12.18.11
a postcard from arizona.
the hissing sound of freezing rain on stone.
the snow on low-slung pines.
the half-moon slouched on the dark shoulder of mountain.
and the stars. the millions of sharp too-bright stars.
the hissing sound of freezing rain on stone.
the snow on low-slung pines.
the half-moon slouched on the dark shoulder of mountain.
and the stars. the millions of sharp too-bright stars.
Saturday, December 17, 2011
Thursday, December 15, 2011
Tuesday, December 13, 2011
yvonne 12.13.11
"I did not allow myself to think of ultimate escape...one step at a time was enough..."
an entire family. rescued from a burning home. even the dog.
just another winter in nyc. everything's on fire.
and me? all I can think about are produce aisles and
forests full of the scent of pine and rain.
an entire family. rescued from a burning home. even the dog.
just another winter in nyc. everything's on fire.
and me? all I can think about are produce aisles and
forests full of the scent of pine and rain.
Sunday, December 11, 2011
yvonne 12.11.11
"explorating performativity" sounds like a bunch of hooey to me.
so I'll turn the page, maybe run off and open a tea shop.
so I'll turn the page, maybe run off and open a tea shop.
Saturday, December 10, 2011
Friday, December 9, 2011
yvonne 12.9.11
It's not that I can't imagine Still
It's more that I can't imagine Not Moving.
It's not that I can't imagine the full moon in my window
It's more that I can't imagine having a window.
It's not that I can't imagine True Love
It's more that I can't imagine even the first word.
It's more that I can't imagine Not Moving.
It's not that I can't imagine the full moon in my window
It's more that I can't imagine having a window.
It's not that I can't imagine True Love
It's more that I can't imagine even the first word.
Thursday, December 8, 2011
Wednesday, December 7, 2011
12.7.11
Dec. 7th: pearls. before swine.
pearl: a hard object produced within the soft tissue (specifically the mantle) of a living shelled mollusk.
harbor: a part of a body of water along the shore deep enough for anchoring a ship and so situated with respect to coastal features, whether natural or artificial, as to provide protection from winds, waves, and currents.
2. such a body of water having docks or port facilities.
3. any place of shelter or refuge:
Pearl Harbor, attack on: December 7th, 1941
2,402 Americans killed. 1,282 wounded.
pearl: a hard object produced within the soft tissue (specifically the mantle) of a living shelled mollusk.
harbor: a part of a body of water along the shore deep enough for anchoring a ship and so situated with respect to coastal features, whether natural or artificial, as to provide protection from winds, waves, and currents.
2. such a body of water having docks or port facilities.
3. any place of shelter or refuge:
Pearl Harbor, attack on: December 7th, 1941
2,402 Americans killed. 1,282 wounded.
Tuesday, December 6, 2011
Monday, December 5, 2011
Sunday, December 4, 2011
yvonne 12.4.11
between my finger and my thumb.
between my toes. like mud. or the river running.
leaf membranes fall, scatter. and winter
winter comes.
between my toes. like mud. or the river running.
leaf membranes fall, scatter. and winter
winter comes.
Friday, December 2, 2011
yvonne 12.2.11
"He painted with fists and elbows"
imagine. the angles. the smears of oil.
the unstrapped images. the chaos.
imagine. the angles. the smears of oil.
the unstrapped images. the chaos.
Thursday, December 1, 2011
yvonne 12.1.11
sometimes it feels as if I'm watching the entire world collapse around me. sometimes it feels as if I'm shoeless. in a snowstorm. sometimes it feels as if all the rain that's ever fallen stays behind my eyes. sometimes it feels as if words like "emergency," and "crisis," and "terror" have no meaning. sometimes I can't remember your face, your voice, the shape of your hands. sometimes I wake to your shape. sitting. at the end of my bed. sometimes I shake and shake my head. to get your name out of every corner. sometimes it feels as if I'm watching the entire world collapse around me. |
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