mountaineerwe are mountaineers, bound by the climbing code but each time the life line draws taut it does not draw me nearmountaineer
tethered I watch you teeter but this only makes you giggle you have lost our picks, pitons, and carabiners and crows circle and cackle
you are right
that it takes a long time to fall from a great height such a single minded act for the wingless such as us
Someday my footing will fail and we will begin our epic descent will there be triumph then as finally we are flying?
nibblesthe edifice stands so far removed from its kin asleep and aging it providesnibbles
nibbles inside it feed the interlopers an ancient game of feeding an ancient game of debt
The collector stays busy and readies its goons the nibblers keep eating they learn to love jellyfish soup
a damning curve of hunger and inevitability links stomachs and age and
structural integrity
the edifice stands so close to rising from its troubled sleep yet still it tries
balloonthe absence is alive a phantom limb tripping phantom nerve signals that signify and demand meaning. only solutions are intangibleballoon
the absence creates it fills and it stuffs and the thing created awaits its final purchase awaits its cold judgment awaits its consumption.
a fantastic balloon that pops and impresses the giggling children and the faithful pets and all others who have not learned
to see nothing to feel nothing to know nothing.
the absence does not care it continues unerring it nev
transgressiontransgression it appears is a trickster a subtle god with a honey laugh relying on platonic forms and beautiful math to make loutish jokes where the punchline is betrayaltransgression
it hides its ambition with a bumbling delivery you snort in derision and want to leave but obligation forces you to sit as you heave a sigh rolling your eyes with contempt
Until slowly it dawns, like a sunrise over a night battlefield like a blacked out revealer naked in an unknown bed that transgression is a genius of comedy that you are not merely a mem
ShamanMarble MythI find you amidst dust and alabaster where you stand in smooth, marble pride. Your skin is stiff and plastered against all my caresses. You hideMarble Myth
the rhythm of the stone in your chest but my straining ear heard its beat while my own lilting heart knew unrest. The divine Art of Venus I will not entreat,
for it was not my hands that carved your body. Still, like Pygmalion playing lover to his ivory girl, I am starved for flesh to yield to my fingers, praying
that my own art, not divine or of stone, can still make your heart revealed to me. Le
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