Sound Engineer, Poet, sometimes-composer.
"Tell all the truth but tell it slant" - Emily Dickinson.
I'll read one and then I won't the words of a ghost my father and why when asked did he not cry
By CAabout a year ago in Poets
freedom is a cell in the bones we have buried - our failed history marrows’ innate liberty, not ours - Gods’ humanity
broken glass in bloom pillars of roses, empty edged and glistening thorn by disappearing thorn,
collecting thoughts, hours remnants for the journey home refugees suitcase
morning smiles long day begins by a clear river empty shoes on sand -ca
to fall like petals from a flower, this was our destiny earthen cloud, pillar of fire - this is how we died
he is the silent one here, but it's his stance, his distance the wave of a long shadow at dusk measured time in pockets
bouquet of wings from a blue back to a rose slight grimace street smart, and smoke halos the face of le saltimbanque
so these lines fell sudden lamplight down an ink-dark hall half-moons, like truth cresting, my eyes round
when I step into the river that separates us to lean in, feet slipping on silk stones, falling face down in full force for love
spindly limbs tapping moonlight morse at my window the past wants to talk -ca
emptiness, but for the icy ink of living written rivers, more history than poetry wry smile of breathing draped from nape nose to ear lobe
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