oblindinghour.blogspot.com
into luminous air: Pastoral.
http://oblindinghour.blogspot.com/2009/11/pastoral.html
Monday, November 9. From the hall, a smell of cooking intrudes,. Wraps around the room and bed linens - in other houses,. Fixtures are bolted stoic and revealing nothing. Two women smoking quietly. See the framed us:. A family of two eating children:. One boy one girl the father drinking tea the mother. Going from one to the other, the white dog watching like a. Whitedog clock on the wall. When I finish shifting my eyes, you disappear. Jars of fruits steeped in alcohol reclaim. I retrieve my trickeries.
oblindinghour.blogspot.com
into luminous air: series of shorts
http://oblindinghour.blogspot.com/2010/06/series-of-shorts.html
Wednesday, June 30. I am writing again. Or actually, posting newish things that I would like to see outside of notebook-scrawled-handwriting format. Mostly garbage. Apologies in advance. Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom). The missing limbs in sleep.". Dont tell: a serendipity. No wonder so. O blinding hour, O holy, terrible day. When first the shaft into his vision shone. Has looked on Beauty bare. Edna St. V. Millay. It was such disposession. That made possession joy,. When, strict as Psalm or Lesson,.
oblindinghour.blogspot.com
into luminous air: annunciation, winter
http://oblindinghour.blogspot.com/2008/09/acension-winter.html
Monday, September 29. If I believed in it, my constellation has eroded. The earth sign, the negative. Treble that is true only inside the mirror of tongue,. It is not true, let it not be true. Not that i've had the time or mind to read anyone lately, but i still find myself sounding out peg boyers often. Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom). The missing limbs in sleep.". O blinding hour, O holy, terrible day. When first the shaft into his vision shone. Has looked on Beauty bare. Edna St. V. Millay.
oblindinghour.blogspot.com
into luminous air: Sequence
http://oblindinghour.blogspot.com/2008/10/sequence.html
Friday, October 10. The almond tree, the flower from underneath the almond tree. By that fence, the stone fence. It blew and upturned like sea plants. Like hands and bowls asking. The almond tree in spring. I bathed in almond oil and milk, skin. Inned the little red tub. When I was a child we ran out of soap. My mother she washed my hair out like so. Many little galaxies of black, dusted black. She polished me so I gleam-smiled and. Broke my teeth on the red walker. The carbon inherits the end and I.
oblindinghour.blogspot.com
into luminous air: a series of shorts
http://oblindinghour.blogspot.com/2009/02/series-of-shorts_03.html
Tuesday, February 3. A series of shorts. In the artful current, ground flows down. And the river leans blue. the sky twists around sun in pulled-wool turns. Lurid colours of pink and green, the whip-hearted seeds. The parabolic flow of things only part of the physics we are seeing, the. Truncated orbit of falling things. Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom). The missing limbs in sleep.". A series of shorts. A series of shorts. A series of shorts. O blinding hour, O holy, terrible day. I learnt your poetry.
oblindinghour.blogspot.com
into luminous air: protectionism
http://oblindinghour.blogspot.com/2009/03/protectionism.html
Wednesday, March 4. Put out of mind, but the mechanics of never erase. Still - now imprint. Of arms having remembered holding. A small white dog (two). A man in the cold. Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom). The missing limbs in sleep.". O blinding hour, O holy, terrible day. When first the shaft into his vision shone. Has looked on Beauty bare. Edna St. V. Millay. It was such disposession. That made possession joy,. When, strict as Psalm or Lesson,. I learnt your poetry. A thimble full of corn oil.
oblindinghour.blogspot.com
into luminous air: still life:
http://oblindinghour.blogspot.com/2010/03/still-life.html
Sunday, March 7. In the late evening, I sat propped,. Tilting my head so the refuse of water ran, evaporatingly. Spoke to my self the whole night -. Measured the fall of snow. Remembered to unarm anger. I taught him what he knows,. The several-atoms-thin facing of me.). We spected, politely, on outsides. I tried to lower myself out of love with the same ease. Drank and thought to appeal to him, dear object. Broke through the old anger like puncturing a skin. Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom).
oblindinghour.blogspot.com
into luminous air: and one not-short:
http://oblindinghour.blogspot.com/2009/02/and-one-not-short.html
Tuesday, February 3. You fashion a return. The city collects now its snow and ices down like breath,. Lights effuse, having been strung from limbs of trees. You cannot find in the straight backs of men, the clean cut of men. On any street the modicum of him. The ocean you have left. Carries you with inertia, always. Tugging in the inner ear, the seahorse horseshoe bones of it. The singularity, then, that. Opened up, the pinpoint bloom of lead and things heavier than lead. Would pull him in.
oblindinghour.blogspot.com
into luminous air
http://oblindinghour.blogspot.com/2010/07/having-lesser-of-it.html
Thursday, July 8. Having the lesser of it. The last night's night spent gritting your teeth. A glint of smile. Something. About his mouth around his smile captivated you. You. Outside wind makes motion sinusoidal, rippling the. He in his house. You on your side. Labels: not in love. Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom). The missing limbs in sleep.". Having the lesser of it. The last nights night s. O blinding hour, O holy, terrible day. When first the shaft into his vision shone. Has looked on Beauty bare.
oblindinghour.blogspot.com
into luminous air: niqab
http://oblindinghour.blogspot.com/2010/10/niqab.html
Monday, October 11. The gift of women, then, in a. Humans don't so much shatter. They don't love their children.". Daughters, now, receiving. The send off, not coming home in. Boxes, not enough to be. Sentries. walkers that go. Any where, watchers that. Suspend in black a motif of eyes. What do they offer them for that? Within the shroud, a shroud. an eye. Within the shroud a ticking heat. You assemble a percussive beat, which. Is not the heart's beat, but rushes in. The blood all the same.
