Parts Per Minute

Untitled, Rome, 1960 by Cy Twombly

Parts Per Minute


Here there were flowers and here there was a path
and the cadence of the people carrying themselves
along the pavement informed the way they spoke

how many words rationed out per minute
per street

In turn the town became a place where daylight
meant voices to tie the objects to stories
to help plants wrap arms around the softened ground
to put buildings down decisively

And in the night when there were quiet voices
the town would let them turn around and settle
within their individual darkness like dogs circling
to locate sleep

[Image above by Cy Twombly. View more of Twombly's work here.]

Reading a Map Is a Form of Dreaming

Reading a Map Is a Form of Dreaming

Where can I find a quieter mind
When I hunt it is always in the real darkness

Someone told me to invent a place and then listen to it

What I heard were leaves

In the dark like this a house looks like a mountain
The dog is its own shadow