I never speak
but rather
words escape
a cut of blood -
a sudden exhalation -
of flying uncertainty.
I never think
as traffic bound
by systematic
thoroughfares, but
I careen - gawky
at the peddles -
only to catch up later.
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The Chiming of a Perfect Chord
Day Three You can (add9) to an A minor and it peals, like a big, simple agony. I always knew that chord I think, before I held the axe in my...
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Day 2 Simple fingers to the string What a little thing to cultivate, unreal as it is; not to be seen or touched but felt, enduring, where so...
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Day Twenty Fantastic style designs on pottery from Hacilar. Image from Yakar 2005. The ancients believed That culture was Construed by pot...
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So, two weeks in and I'm somewhat surprised to find myself sticking at this poetry malarkey. In fact I'm enjoying it very much. To...
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