Tag: love

Oh, Baba Yaga: A Good Score Is Between 40 and 60

The Throughline, Thoughts

I love that my soul is in ten sweeping universes as we speak. I love that however terrible forty-five minutes can go, a weekend approaches. With dancing and ill, malformed, delighted wiggling and sweet wine. I love that there is purple hair dye in my bathroom calling me. I love that silk robe that seems to make the world on my shoulders feel escapable by parachute. I love the kind whispers saying the kind words, all done as if we’re in a film noir. I love that I saved myself. I love that I knew what to do and did it. I love that I am willing to throw myself into the fire and burn myself to bones for a good idea. I love that piercing eye.

The Strid

The Throughline, Thoughts

It would be a dangerous thing. Dangerous in that it would convince me, perhaps convince others who might take me as an object lesson, that…

Love Myth

Draft Work, Poetry

We clap out a reveille and sing
against each other
against the braise of the road,
like we are a constant twenty-one
gun salute praising prairie
grass, dogs, and fire.

At the End of the Day (For Peter)

Old Lessons, Thoughts

It feels somehow, at 11:30 p.m. like you are sitting on the day’s windowsill as the earthly set designers change the scenes around you. Draw in a tree and drape blue and purple leaves on its arms, pull out a curtain of evening sky and stud it with zirconia, paint the middle distance until it pulls the eye into infinity.

Grace Under Fire

Old Lessons, Thoughts

I just have to get back into the groove.  Of everything. So the gross details of my absence are thus: I think I haven’t thrown…

Delphi

Draft Work, Poetry

How you strain to find the swiftness
to catch me.
How I struggle for the stillness
to be caught.

Astrid v. Mildred

Old Lessons, Thoughts

You should be there. Naturally? I should be there, too. Making something, some salad dressing in a bowl. Easy, but requiring attentiveness, ratios, science, purpose. The fork would scrape in the wooden bowl as I emulsify the oil. It’d be near suppertime, but before that scramble to get everything set on the table. You’d be reading, still, in another world but contented to have your body in this one, unbothered.