truth in play
decisions based on memories
rake pluto’s stars
the attention ignoring requries
where the market isn’t looking
lost to silence
eyelashes on white stomach
to see the present as if it has passed
fast legs, slow eyes
the freedom of impartiality
grandiose small gestures
marble baths of rhapsody
ripe to give
thoughts hiding in eyelids
give someone their beauty
kisses in the air of a circling wasp
let it go before it starts
the long, long length of art
only a Phillistine would say
ravines of wild oregano
re-opened boxes of time
prone to ornamental positions
why cherish the things you don’t
first, drink light
wearing what you preach
every thought a forethought
all that’s in the background determines the fore
a body and a home
hidden behind limited time
softening with age (requires intention)
lying heavy in your bed
holding control here, to relinquish it there
rare, please
from too much time doing exactly this
that my eyes never see inside myself
a distraction for - or from? - yourself
charm in spades
to be a piece, not a song
speaking in camouflage
weathering the time and the seasons therein
cotton candy ice cream, trundling elephants of cars
the universal ignorance of which stars are dead
guard your (he)art
rose-tinted embellishments of a (good or bad) end
langorous soaks in moonshade
a quiet little wisp, sneaking off from the sky
staying in on your own secrests
the subtle tango of silent expectations
all is not found
times near lightning strikes
making a less terrestrial actuality
open windows, boredom on the breeze, louche afternoons
showing someone where they are
putting ways up to change
smoked leather bodices
knowing all your expectations will be exceeded
risks (when there is nothing better to do
searching for a new source of light
repeating the past, just to be sure
a reminder that perspective and breath are equals
where you don’t shade is what catches the light
making lace out of clay
fitted close as a childhood sobriquet
a glittering display of acquaintances
honeyed landscapes dripped out the window
told through the echoes of a high-ceilinged house
a transfixing ability to surprise
sitting sideways, to see the world around rather than ahead
the body of work to be simple
waking from a dream having forgotten where you are
floating in water, staring at the sky
a state of glutinous indecision
personalization vs. identity
all the thoughts that never come when the seasons don’t change
neck smelling of wet fallen leaves
to not be afraid of making a mess (and
to be stability for someone else
when a stranger is happy to see you the second time
distance makes the head grow clearer
