Sleet
Rain on its way to becoming
snow. Water in the process
of becoming weaponry.
Droplets flung like darts.
The sting of the in-between.
Transitional types of weather
bewilder and entrance:
pearls of hail loosed upon
the green lawn; the frost
sprung up on leaves
of its own accord, an
internal snow released;
and this, the sleet,
diagonal and digging silver
claws, a volley of arrows.
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
Friday, December 4, 2009
Friday, December 4, 2009: Gwenessa Lam, Curtain & Chandelier: http://gwenessa.wordpress.com
The Curtain
The curtain's spine is first to wear dirt.
The sheer panel dims over time,
a failing bulb. The edges of the ceiling fan
grow furry with sediment, like petals
recalling pollen. Without movement,
life is present, but only through accumulation,
congregation. Stillness calls out to stillness
in the language of decomposition.
Dust and tarnish will stain anything stationary,
will drape dusky hands on unmoving material,
turn brightness into pallor. The curtain sighs,
content to go on gathering, gathering.
The curtain's spine is first to wear dirt.
The sheer panel dims over time,
a failing bulb. The edges of the ceiling fan
grow furry with sediment, like petals
recalling pollen. Without movement,
life is present, but only through accumulation,
congregation. Stillness calls out to stillness
in the language of decomposition.
Dust and tarnish will stain anything stationary,
will drape dusky hands on unmoving material,
turn brightness into pallor. The curtain sighs,
content to go on gathering, gathering.
Thursday, December 3, 2009
Thursday, December 3, 2009: Ffffound! Quoted from: All About | :: Dan Shepelavy ::
Strange Beasts of the Present
These days, strange creatures still surround us,
but they are getting harder to identify
because they are learning the best hiding places.
In the hood of a car, in a wallow of oil,
for instance. Or the bottom shelves of libraries,
between pages of books that go untouched
for years. In a nest of leaves in the gutter.
In the mouth of a VCR. We'll need to teach
the children how to search for them, how to
distinguish the sound of their breathing
from the hum of the lights or the fridge,
and to coax them from their dens occasionally,
so that we can remember how good it feels
to be near to something untamed, otherworldly.
These days, strange creatures still surround us,
but they are getting harder to identify
because they are learning the best hiding places.
In the hood of a car, in a wallow of oil,
for instance. Or the bottom shelves of libraries,
between pages of books that go untouched
for years. In a nest of leaves in the gutter.
In the mouth of a VCR. We'll need to teach
the children how to search for them, how to
distinguish the sound of their breathing
from the hum of the lights or the fridge,
and to coax them from their dens occasionally,
so that we can remember how good it feels
to be near to something untamed, otherworldly.
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
Wednesday, December 2, 2009: Ffffound! Quoted from: Tumblr
Bow
Satin folded in upon itself,
arms bent at the elbow, clasped behind
the back. A fastening, a knot, but not
for function. You are meant to untie the bow,
to pull at one of the ends, to take its hand
in yours and disentangle its temporary
prettiness. It readily unfolds,
a butterfly transforming in reverse.
Satin folded in upon itself,
arms bent at the elbow, clasped behind
the back. A fastening, a knot, but not
for function. You are meant to untie the bow,
to pull at one of the ends, to take its hand
in yours and disentangle its temporary
prettiness. It readily unfolds,
a butterfly transforming in reverse.
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
Tuesday, December 1, 2009: Notcot #26715 (Post number 350!)
Resilience
This tire came from a tree.
A curved blade shaved
a strip of bark, winding
around the trunk, a whittled
barber pole, a study in
exteriors. Latex seeps
along the cut. And still,
the tree is fine, we slice
it almost every other day.
Latex drips out like overturned
correction fluid, and we
siphon it, keep it, praise it
for its ability to be changed,
its resilience. We wrap wheels
in its buoyant embrace, or
compile and compress it
into an eraser, a marvelous
tool for removing, resurfacing.
This tire came from a tree.
A curved blade shaved
a strip of bark, winding
around the trunk, a whittled
barber pole, a study in
exteriors. Latex seeps
along the cut. And still,
the tree is fine, we slice
it almost every other day.
Latex drips out like overturned
correction fluid, and we
siphon it, keep it, praise it
for its ability to be changed,
its resilience. We wrap wheels
in its buoyant embrace, or
compile and compress it
into an eraser, a marvelous
tool for removing, resurfacing.
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