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.

 

Constellations

 

My fingers move like needle points, spun between the poles of

Clavicle and calves. Invisible lines of magnetism,

Your freckles are my guides. By nights these constellations, traced,

Become my map and sky: Polaris, and the star charts — a universe laid bare.

Continue reading

Overstayed

Where the wind blew pine needles across the roof. Scritch, scritch.

I didn’t know it would be this long.

I never would’ve let the dog out.

Never would’ve kissed you under the wolf moon. They say it’s cursed. Now we know.

Scritch. Continue reading