blank spaces on the map
and they all hide
say the old times
Some thoughts toward a rite of spring.
distant, keeps odd hours. A foreigner, regarded with a mixture of bemused tolerance and mistrust.
This is a proverb from some far-away land where the Peter principle does not apply, and only the least competent are entrusted with the most important jobs.
it would be useful to have an unblinking third eye to keep track of the sun.
there’s so much less fornication than at the encampment of the saved.
we forget after a while that they aren’t the horizon, that their trees don’t go on forever, that the sky is wider than we can know.
who kept giving me forms to fill out.
to rescue children drowning in a river. One of them has already grown fins and a tail.
No pain, no gain, he makes me hiss through a throat stretched thin as a telephone line.
why doesn’t it pool underground
like a reservoir of eternal summer?