Defeat

The war isn’t over yet. If there ever was a war.

We fought our own way, with words not blood,

But silence brings the same death, and there is no further reason to reject

A common ending.

What We Remember

Together we looked out against the Sea of Time, but we caught only glimpses of the past. So much has happened that will not be remembered. Overwhelmed and ashamed of my own smallness, I looked away. But Hasha caught my hand and pointed.

“This was the day the walls of Hannok fell,” she whispered. “I remember.” Her breath was lost on the wind, like so many memories swallowed by the yawn of time. What words, what wisps like anyone’s secure themselves in history? They are not the noblest, nor the most beautiful, nor even the loudest. They are what we find after the dust has settled.

Blog Updates

Veteran bloggers, I don’t know how you do it. Seriously, what is your secret? Is there a special coffee, or a motivational book that keeps you writing with the regularity of Metamucil? I find myself returning from yet another long absence on this blog. I have not been inactive. Other projects have consumed my time (more updates on those later!), as well as many life developments: buying a house; new work contracts; travel. But there have been as many distractions and pits of deep despair that prevent me from writing, especially concerning the hateful direction my country, the USA, is taking.

I had always been taught that good prevails, that there is light even in darkness, and that comeuppance is a real tool of fate. Continue reading

Sisyphus’ Content

The prairie is vast, flax seed blooming from your toes to the horizon. Blue touching blue, a union. Incurable sweetness in your lungs. This would be a good death, you think. It’s peaceful. It’s pure.

But you move on.

The challenge of a hill and the pleasure of a valley – the arc between your shoulder blade and spine – marks a preferred route through the blazed trees. There’s pleasure in a climb. Your lungs sigh with exertion. Not all labor is toil, you say as your calves grow lean and strong and your back straightens towards the sun.

Urban Decay

There are more ghosts than people here. The past has pushed us out.

Gentrified by poltergeists, the city renames itself “Nostalgia You’ll Never Recapture.”

Skyscrapers like headstones. Car horns like dirges.

We spirit westward, far from here, in search of hills without cairns.

In search of homes unhaunted.

In search of spaces for life to begin.

Just Enough

He writes ten pages to arrive at a single punchline. Who needs that much setup?

Who has time?

We have never lost anything we truly needed.

We have never felt full eating only air.

 

Ghost with a Cigarette

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This part of the walk always gives me the creeps, but my dog pulls behind the circle of apartment houses, back at the edge of the creek, with no regard for my fears. Animals are supposed to be more attuned to the spirit world, right? So if there’s something out there, she would know. This is what I tell myself as she takes a leisurely squat next to the loquat. I ready a plastic bag, and just as it closes around the warm excretion steaming into the night air, I hear it. Click. Whiff. Continue reading

Dumb Beasts

We reincarnate as beasts more and more cruel. Each pass through fate’s transmogrifier sharpens our claws, sour hunter’s instincts. Why say goodbye when I’ll see you again, your canines extended down below your jaw? Fur matted, dripping blood either yours or mine. It makes no difference. They’re practically the same now. We’re practically the same dumb beasts, playing on inherited senses. Driven by the compulsion to bite, kill, feed. I feel the coiling of your limbs burning in my own sinew, can sense your strike but not prevent it. Then around again through kill, rebirth. Wicked jaws bared, murders stacked.