You Can’t Interrupt, Ha-ha

My dear Ha-ha—my friend—please, come sit in a booth. We can’t really talk at the bar now, can we? Clamor may be glamour, but the noise up front is the noise of the brain. Hirsute, difficult legends are—how shall I say?— a hairy-scary truth. When we start with the morning star, the evening star elbowsContinue reading “You Can’t Interrupt, Ha-ha”

Ether Island: Michael Heidegger b 1947 –

Like the Proust clan, the Heidegger clan took to walking the country roads. They had two routes too: either the mountain ‘way’, or down along the lake, over the ‘little’ bridge (there was not a big bridge to contrast with), and across Cemetery Island— and if it was a nice night, all the way toContinue reading “Ether Island: Michael Heidegger b 1947 –”

Ether Island: What she Meant – d 1968

If Too old to count was like a mantra to him alive, a joke to silence, then, she guessed, silence joked in his death epitaph too. Now, it said, it is chipped into the stone… No. What he had meant was ‘in to’ the stone. The unfamiliar: it was in their light that ashes fell.Continue reading “Ether Island: What she Meant – d 1968”

Ether Island: its Youth 1943 – 1954

…and if the bridge still seems to float this morning, in thy mist, Ether Island— the boards still creak and groan and shift like bones under your weight— it didn’t seem to matter, for the Lorelei had sung, the corpse had bloated, had grown thick— and like sailors, the dead float to the surface inContinue reading “Ether Island: its Youth 1943 – 1954”

Poetry on the bed between them—

A man, yet by these tears a boy again… Walt Whitman Play sighed, Ice-Boy, then endure, then, verdure— you see, it’s good. You have an o-u-s but that e in verdure kills you. Murder would bake the cake, simply be murderous. Rats! They both know it should be murderess. Poetry in a game of Scrabble—Continue reading “Poetry on the bed between them—”

Ice-Boy Got the Heebie Jeebies

Poor Ice-Boy! He’s melting! Icicles-Boy! Beware synoptic voices, Ice, voices in your head! Bees in winter! How they destroy a winter’s eve come morning, a dripping sin, that every sunrise makes so clear, must be a warning that the hive is soon to wake. Pretend to sleep all winter, sure, each bee does so, butContinue reading “Ice-Boy Got the Heebie Jeebies”

The Further Adventures of the Ice-Boy

…since I am sure my love’s more ponderous than my tongue. Cordelia. King Lear. Her muscles move. She sounds just like her breath— like a machine can breathe the air. You kiss the baby and you blow away its death, eh, Ice-Boy?—like a distant bell—a hiss alive in both their heads. Today we will learnContinue reading “The Further Adventures of the Ice-Boy”