Wildlife charges through the city like the bulls of Pamplona, a stampede of death from a river of life, a river that flows turbulently, crashing and slopping. Nothing can falter before the stampede. Each step must land solidly, each step until one's last.
the dragonfly is still, and I wonder whether it's dead, and further wonder whether anyone has thought that of me
graves in autumn. under red-leafed trees -- soon to be bare
flowers & greenery
&
little bottled candles
form a memorial
on the train bridge
crossing the river
but the most soul-chilling
is the stuffed toy rabbit,
standing weathered & unkempt,
it testifies that someone
saw the deceased
as a tiny child
was she a tiny child,
or just so remembered?
so many questions float on
as that cold river glides below
To stretch a life beyond the time of trees be ready for a glacial shift of pace. There'll be no undulation of the seas. To stretch a life beyond the time of trees, the tradeoff is what's quick will pass unseen. So, what say you, Kings of infinite space? To stretch a life beyond the time of trees be ready for a glacial shift of pace.
A sign that hangs on down the street proclaims to one and all that coming soon there will be a Lonely-Hearts Club Ball. A dance of manic turbulence where singles 're all & none. You can come all by yourself, but you'll never leave as one. You'll be swept into unity with undulating hoards. Bound by bindings you'll feel, not see; you'll never cut these cords. So, welcome to the end of you, as only you can know. And welcome to the beginning of the everlasting flow. For an end is a beginning of something bold and new. And a beginning is an end: 'cause we're just passing through.
the white walls
of the funerary bath
glow with morning light
Hangman... Axeman... Guillotine art-eest... Stool-kicker... Lever-yanker... Elongator of necks... His motto: "Making them deader than your average beheader." Sharpening his blade, Split hair-testing Precise as the Taoist butcher -- blade between bone, no nicks allowed Killer of killers, an audience thriller Step right up... Any last words? Masked & shirtless + pudgy & sweaty He's the hangman, the axeman, a killer of killers.
the necropolis sprawls across the desert -- desolate... to us
the !n(tro)verted yogi 