The Art of Suicide
A tree, a rope and a note, “The empty noose means I’m not desperate enough.” A cry, a warning? We …
A tree, a rope and a note, “The empty noose means I’m not desperate enough.” A cry, a warning? We …
Not feminine, though it exists. Untamed, polite for ‘savage’, perfect name for a jazz riff, or Buddy Rich drumming. …
The Day: Oh what comes on the wind, simple and bright, to splash among the rocks and wash over the …
The effort may find you wanting, lacking the lapidary skill to smooth the edges that pull at loose threads. …
– I have to leave every three days. I need cigarettes, decent food, a shower, a drink. Taking eight hours …
The last of the light squanders itself on skeleton trees, cactus flowers languish in the desert wilds, somewhere there is …
The petals have dried up and fallen away. Only the stems and seed pods remain. I call them daisies out …
…the unfortunate gardeners, you know, those Mexican men who keep finding their way back, see them better than most. Sure …
Is it a wonder when certain thoughts cross our minds, insert themselves into the spaces reserved for other things, that …
With eyes open, transparent as windows, awareness becomes an atmosphere, a notional idea of rain apart from clouds, the clapping …