Cezanne said that but no one believed him All we really seeis light valiantly massacred the mineral-laden earth with its zillions of herbal veins and carnivorous flowers mere pinpoints of light reverberations of molecular light adorned with ornaments of human bones
George Cassidy Payne
Leaving the Tunnel
Nothing we see is color Cezanne said that but no one believed him All we really see is light The mineral-laden earth with its zillions of herbal veins and carnivorous flowers mere pinpoints of light reverberations of molecular light adorned with ornaments of human bones
Marma Points
I want to tell you something that is born out of the erosion of words. Here, hold the bottom of my chin. Touch my upper lip. Press the back of my earlobe. Take my right index fingerand feel that pinging impulse. Do you feel it? That is electricity. My cells are trying to tell youso that you will […]
Restoration
comes with night,a “Womb Flower”, the fountain of her blood, a precious curse cloaking its opulent tarp over the earth tent. In the morning, the dew of ecstasy.
Till death do us part
You were still a stranger to me then, when I longed to figure out your secrets, if you had any, before we fell in love and learned how to solve each other’s problems. Once I read a story about the “Wild Boy of Aveyon,” and you reminded me of that poor wolf child, a creature urged on by hunger, […]
Catacombs of Domitilla
Bones as mere decor. Stored in metallic ink, eachmorning, waking without a comparison point, folded intoa cast-iron pot, fragrant withcumin, and ripe with profaneadverbs, in the unvaccinated catacombs of Domitilla.
Birding
Fragile, shalehands holdthe womb wilderness isborn The CosmosWalleyed PikesJune nights andthe call of Loons Everything thatwe need to dream To feelTo love So littleseparatesus from whatwe need The nightyou wereborn Wearing the skin of God The worldwas born My new Cosmos And by the timeit was written even Green Heronin the cool spring marshcould tell me
A Moment in the Backyard
The way some fireflies hide within the obsidian grass, faking the blinking signals of cold heat, I waited for you to want my offerings, as badly as I wanted to givethem to you. Perhaps we shall soon understand why.
The Lost Part of the Human Brain
(Inspired by Terence McKenna) Glaciers are new. The home star arrivinglater than we sensed. Summoned. The sunoff the main sequence. An arc out of here.
Lost Monarchs
By the lookof his wool held in placeby a universalgrammar of touch I will be prayingto my higher self just to be with him. You know, that placewhere the jasper seawaves dance, like lostmonarchs, throughand with the ocean mist.