Writing a line, as if from bed, on a lovely, handmade
organ based on Gerald Murnane, the Goroke novelist
last seen pouring a glass of amb More
As my plane drops down in turbulence
I think of you and of Salt Lake City,
I think of ice stealing over the Great Lakes
and of Om More
We write about our existence pre-invasion / And that has made us visible
We wri More
Who doesn’t love the portmanteau
for tangerine and pomelo, or more like angel,
tango, words for wilderness ...
In a hallway with the door open, a Honeywell T87 will attempt to
equalise the temperature of the continuous (available) world. It sits
Tuesdays Paul comes by. He jogs up the driveway in his striped green shorts
and I’m there at the door with Ella on my hip. She’s crying, she’s teething
and drooling and crying from the pain, and some d More
Even the waves of the sea, in the distance, have turned to stone.
The blue/green rising into outcrops, ridgelines, a lone bull ...