· the cultural society ·

The bouganvillea does not curl in the acorn, the spores of the ferns crowd our eyes. She pressed small hands into the wet sound, pulled out shell-fragments, a kind of wood (white sand) pulled back her hair elaborate into a sort of knot-work. Barometers of jewelry and glittering leather, infant ear-rings spider-web hair knotted with […]

We had prided ourselves on how promptly we answered letters, but all that went to hell when the new system was installed. In the old days, correspondences maintained between the planets and the viscera, politics and the heavenly movements; now everything keyed itself to one digital counter, blinking and constantly picking up a stray minute […]

oil trundles forward shelving beneath breakers choking naiads, sea-horses the unpent rage resentment without shape, distinction                coal-dust clouds, knee-deep coal dust snapping at the air, the mouths mimic a chorus of lip- syncing backup singers, their teeth desert-sun-bleached bones lips cracked beneath the perfumed gloss                                      the square glasses and perfect hair of necromancy they rise […]

It was only when the credits started to climb the screen that we realized the show was really over, that the blond boy would remain forever on the shore against the sunset, his true love always out of reach. For my part I wanted a simpler ending, one more conventionally “happy” – a wedding even, […]

The roadway cuts through billows of impervious green, reveals its slashes in walls of drilled and dynamited rock. Towards sunset, successive fields of blue-grey pastel layer the distance. Nodding at the wheel. World under glass. Bereft of friends, bereft of short-term memory, she turns the object over in her hands, recounts again the self-same half-dozen […]

Berry tree light fog Trammeled by street lights Black tree black roof pipe Opening a hole into the city I participate in Though new blue jeans Dimly A heart beat two miles from the freeway

Cast over sky that doesn’t break to the possibility of light. This way for a long stretch of days chills the inside rooms. Mid-morning gray with geese wildly flapping. I welcome summer’s humid decline into fall. October has its own way with colors. Cosmic wonder. Before and after.

Guided by temporary insights Notice everything Understand little A dead oppossum rolled onto her back I can imagine peering into worlds beyond human understanding Think of low tide And come closer

Crows on the lake ice making a racket. I’d die of embarrassment to be that loud. Cloudless sky over an early afternoon landscape. The sun does not warm but blinds. Where do you find your days when the delight of passion has waned?