One looks for a sign, a resonance
the choice that is choosing him
no, that is not the moon, nor are those stars
what you see are snowflakes
and the snow, and what the snow buried
No more; the text is foolish
The photo above is a photo from last year–I mean, from 2010. The image to the right is the queen of swords. My she is sharp!
he thought he saw his own ashes
I am wallowing which is why I am writing. I will be posting because I want to sound my own barbaric yawp although it is more of a howl. But not an audacious, on fire Howl like Ginsberg (I don’t even need to tell you this).
even the wrong choice is the correct one
I haven’t been able to write the pet obituaries that you might think inconsequential but are unlocked boxes stuck frozen in my heart. When I imbibed grief I imbibed the tiny splinters of glass from the demons’ mirror and now my heart is ice. I haven’t been able yet to write the obituary of what I thought was my life.
the splinters still flew about in the air
Dost thou know me?
quotes are from Dan Beachy-Quick, William Shakespeare, Hans Christian Anderson