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Memory

Memory

The days keep on pushing one over the other, as seagulls do, waves delivering even as undertow erodes the beach beneath. I believe and the grist goes on, and the memory cleans itself from leaves, from barnacles, from the thing itself, eventually from the fossil-shape...
What else

What else

What else could love be but grappling — depraved or lucid – with our angels? In youth, mostly recognizable by the agitation in its wake, 
we sometimes mistake this disarray for the active ingredient.
 But perhaps with time, a refinement of strength passes across...
Give onto

Give onto

Let us give onto the water. If the reflections have distorted our image away from recognition, let us make use of the disguise to deliver a gift in secret. Let the peened-over edges of our darkened exterior fade, as subtly as we became aware of them. Let the zip ties...
As far as I can see it

As far as I can see it

As far as I can see it, there’s nothing wrong with waking up. It should be a group effort, not shriveling itself into factions or teams. Teams will forcibly remain asleep while they grapple with each other or fondle themselves. It shouldn’t be a brand or a...
A mirror to its light

A mirror to its light

What sees the honest sun now through the murk, what sees she I mean they I mean it — with cyclones and downpour and downfall on every circuit, small hope-sparks to offset the clamor, to illuminate? To change, define? To ornament in circles as they, as we, circle...