Thursday, April 28, 2011
Sunday, April 24, 2011
A Building Site Is A Place Of Angles
Sometimes when I see "palace" written down, I think it says "place"
and sometimes, it is the other way around.
Seeing continents in the sawdust,
beauty in the barrows,
making walls out of windows
and windows out of walls.
And sometimes, catching a glimpse of something in the rafters -- something with wings.
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
Walls I have met
Joshua Bellamy Smith. His eyes are either blue, grey-blue, grey-brown or purple. He likes to sprawl about on the weekends reading books about boarding school.
Mrs Blanche Delaney. Her six daughters all play the piano competently. Every monday morning, she presses their identical school uniforms with lemon-scented starch.
Ms Adelay paints her fingernails lilac. Her husband is always wondering, How did she get so many fingernails?
Kerry is fifteen years old and can't wait to leave home.
Poor John Rackman, down on his luck. He used to tape up his cracks, but now he doesn't care. Children scrape their sticks along his shins as they walk to the corner dairy, to buy spearmint suckers and ice creams as big as their heads.
Saturday, April 9, 2011
Sunday, April 3, 2011
Just because they call it a wreath, that doesn't make it a wreath.
Flamenco rhythm. You can clap it as your walk to work.
Here's lookin' at you, Top.
Can anyone say what is actually happening here?
Twenty-some years old and still afraid of the dark. Good thing we have rocket ships, and it is only a quarter past seven.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)