Perfumes Left Behind

Forget that the dead grass was once a moss so luminous on the rocks it formed a double rainbow of complicated white light and sinister, ambrosial shadows—perfumes left behind you might not think to breathe. Forget the songs you want to sing; the hunter’s moon will steal them off your lips. Forget the poems youContinue reading “Perfumes Left Behind”

Reply to Anna and John, while listening to Brian Eno

Not sad, just entanglement not metaphor, just an ambivalent vine, ambient equivalent to other’s less aimlessness, less coils, less in the light less in sunlight then say day dreams so peaceful, one’s so full of hope, once one’s growth going down into the soil the twisty syntax, a root personified. Or what would be lessContinue reading “Reply to Anna and John, while listening to Brian Eno”