What is an egg? Apart, of course, from breakfast. As an egg is an oval, it, thus, has no beginning, or any ending or even a middle. But even at it’s even centre the cream of the yolk will trigger a soul to crack. Voltaire, French writer, historian and philosopher, died today in 1778. Carl…
May29
Dear Straights, who deny voyeurs by doing up the top button of your blouses to suppress every inch of bosom; who abandon skyscraping stiletto heels in favour of supporting court shoes so as not to stand tall in any crowd; who mimic the stance of taller folk in a futile attempt to peer down on…
May28
Red river, Father, red river rising, Sister. Watch as I ripen into full bloom. As a sylvan scarlett sprig does when rich, behold my napalm flowering, branches luminous with pealing flame, and, in Summer, I thrive, each petal chasing my Sky King, yearning for his tender tending, tilling, pruning, paring and shaping offering a route,…
May27
And under that moon, cleft, split and departed bereft, sat, in silence, lips stitched, a bemuzzled wolf, bewitched, enslaved by the whistling wind, enchained by the sins he sinned, aloof in the mocking crowd that cursed him all too loud to a life of failure encumbered, a fool with wants outnumbered, who tarries at cross-roads…
May25
Ask Google, Facebook, Twitter, Yahoo, and Microsoft how they make their money!
May24
If nothing else, I marvel at this: this ruined spire, which could once rival those in leafy Oxford; this decrepit office, once boasting toasting, tweeting triumphs, when toasting and tweeting were the toasts of the town and the tweets of the twitter, well before the great AI propaganda machine in the cloud bent it’s churning…
May23
I lived an exposed life in the open ocean, but did not live until I happened upon that resilient bay. Those sheer, leaning cliffs, veiled in keen, verdant leaf, bequeathed to me a confetti shower of pink to peach blossom, and cloistered gleaming marble verandas and spiraling pastel temples sacred to smiling Gods of full…
May22
Friday Feeling Behind me a mouse clicks away, each press more affably pressing. The sour stink of the sweat from my slippers hovers and I feel like that efficient spider reweaving its web again after the wind tenderly destroyed it. The sky is blue, as blue as me, and an ace big bird wheels out…
May21
So long, old pal, who stood by us through the longest winters. We remember your holler, your bravado, your cowboy dust, and despite the perceived bad will, we love you still. I know you didn’t like giving or receiving a hug, but, we couldn’t just stand there watching you bathe in your own sewer: you…
