Bridges, III

Brute facts with no whence,

their preferences “just are”;  Continue reading

Bridges, II

I am no welderer, but a prospector, scout

–these hands uproot obstacles, sift and lift drift– Continue reading

Bridges, I

Have we no more beginnings, ‘s the folio filled,

and the last leaf of that jumbled-up bundle been spilled?

If so, merely shuffle-arrange them until

some resembling-a-story ghosts forth from the chill

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When Polish Hides a Pressure Cooker

Self-motion is healthy and natural

(research found means to make this factual) Continue reading

Exhaust

The talented Kindra M. Austin very charitably nominated me for a Versatile Blogger Award.  To be honest, I can’t remember the rules: my mind, like my life, is filled with too much else, and I am a shallow pool. To honor the nomination, here’s a poem related to a topic we recently had an exchange over. (As always, my positions are optimistic, but my poem’s tone is pessimistic. Catharsis?) You should check out her site (unless you’re a poor soul who suffers being triggered by intermittent vulgarity, even when it comes with a big heart): her work can really hook you in

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