Tapping at the keyboard tiles - in the glow of the evening, pausing only for some hours; once to find inspiration in an unexpected shower and once again, to take a bath - these selected letters became these collected words; becoming a poem called steaming bao buns.
At four forty four this a.m. I broke from a curious and troublesome dream: a back yard cold hound arced from a choke, bejewelling black glass with sad bark and stream. * Struggle, the chain enchanted. But relief? Not tonight. Nor evasion. Fear defeat. The fettered dog’s howl and shackle of teeth seemed to goad … Continue reading Tonight, together, apart.
I once found a fluted glass at the foot of a door in a beautiful city where morning sunlight spilled through the Lindens like ghosts lining the streets and I whispered a name that was still unknown to me then but one day poured from your lips to my ears turned in slow motion a … Continue reading I Whispered.
