To hurt is to steal — Bono and U2, from “Mysterious Ways” on Achtung Baby Morning Coffee Reflections She drinks her morning coffee with them. He, an introverted creeper who preyed on babysitters and kept Polaroids of children in his sock drawer; who wigged out when one of his OCD rules were violated. She, who…
Category: prosery
dVerse — Prosery Monday — Faith
As a seed, I was shot out the back end of a blue jay when, heedless, she flew over the meadow.–Lisa Bellamy, from the poem, “Wild Pansy.” Faith As a seed, I was shot out the back end of a blue jay when, heedless, she flew over the meadow. Shivering in a watery mess that dried…
dVerse Prosery Monday — Awake
There’s a lullaby for suffering — Leonard Cohen, from “You want it darker.” She’s running, her lungs sucking air. She’s lost on a mountainous path. She’s being pursued; by whom or what she is unsure. Focused on behind, she trips on a tree root and hurls forward, airborne, and lands on sharp granite. She feels…
dVerse — Prosery Monday — Old Red
Make of it a parkaFor your soul.— Alice Walker, fromBefore you knew you owned it Old Red Old Red lives for death. He hovers around villages at dark, urging sober to take just one sip, urging lonely to take in snakes, urging fists instead of hugs. His first memory is of crawling in a cold…
dVerse — Prosery — Answered
where can we find light in this never-ending shade?–From Amanda Gorman, “The Hill We Climb” Answered Curled up in blankets, layered against cold and wet, I read Clarke, Heinlein, or Atwood by candlelight; books whose pages haven’t disintegrated yet in the cave’s humidity. “X’s” on its wall say it’s mid-January. Deep underground it’s a constant…
dVerse — Prosery — Eclipse
You drew stars around my scars–from Taylor Swift’s song, “Cardigan,”taken from her record Folklore. Eclipse Bionauts, our filaments had been floating in cosmoplasm through innumerable incarnations. When the threads of our irredeemable ills intersected, they caught and twisted together, anchoring each other. Agog and giddy, the blossom of grace bloomed in a garden of gratitude….
dVerse — Prosery Monday — Woolly Winter
There you can see a very small patch Of dark blue, framed by a little branch, Pinned up by a naughty star. — Arthur Rimbaud, from Novel Woolly Winter Months-long winter drains, where no snow brightens, no gusts whistle, and dis-ease suffocates. Today, Martha rides away in the creaky carriage after explaining she needs color…
Tao Talk 