Nob 19, 2015

Concepcion Dadufalza in D minor

One by one the days slant toward the correctness of younger decisions. What of the interim? Riddled so by disease from seasons rubbing against each other, as strangers up the packed stairs. After the fruit, the partners had to climb down to mere knowledge of their happiness. Beef with Freud’s Sophocles is the labor toward the opposite of a riddle. On the road leading to evidence of his birth, the rookie commits at least two murders: old beggar, wise monster. Itself a ceremony of gesticulating patterns, myth does away with ceremonies of fabric: after dinner, the guest sires his mother’s grandchildren, looping and knotting generations to come / ring our bell with a smooth, green index. Nor would I wish upon you such perky days as these that would affirm you. A faint wish, a non-wish, and one seldom watered. Count it kindly among softer acts of devotion.

Nob 5, 2015


Attend, and I will bore you in the domain between acts left unfinished and those summarily undid. If only boredom could relax your nerves. If only it could comfort you as I am comforted by the airy ceiling, the affirmative lack of chandeliers. While I can elicit nothing, it can be taken for warmth. The color of their attire serves neither to flaunt nor disguise their means, nor is it soul were soul something above skin, not under or of it, not it itself, blistering in the sun, smothered with hope denser than the lotion of municipal clinics. What is thread count but a counting on. Book titles but stubble that began doing a number on the skin of my youngest long before the spells. Send one more word, if able. As aircon brown acknowledges the burden of non-aircon brown, licking exposure like a boss, why the longish unintelligible must cramp itself under illiterate, nothing but the same white sky to learn, please. Eager to know how / who / why you are holding up.