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The streetlights here are too new; remember the sodium bulbs they used to use? They made everything that soft, quiet, yellow. The only quiet color of the 80s. These lights are brand-fuckin’-new. LED or something, and they light up the arboreal canopy, all of it. Six different bulbs per post and each leaf blazes, belly and back in flat platinum. Their pixelated shadows all across the sidewalks. I used to wonder about the shadows. I'd watch my feet as I stumbled home after a vicious Saturday night. On pre-dawn slogs to adjust delicate experiments. It took me six years to look up. That was on purpose, mind. Some mystery is important. Tonight I'm looking up. The moon's out, high and getting higher. A waning gibbous; a red moon, a harvest moon. The point of light above it is Mars, I think, though I've come to that conclusion because it is bright and red and new, and these days all celestial bodies are suffering from a spot of smoke-induced rosacea. Napa's vines might be ash but if we can'tLiteratureVII. Damn, you'd look really bad in red
Those four Sunday mornings in August are coiling slow and loosely tangling in cold blue railings.Summer seeps golden into all this stairwell’s corners with where we could have been by now or what we should have done after dinner in Paris.Maybe it’s gaudy but I can’t help but stop to listen to that alto sax, even now, after.You were gonna wear a red dress to my wedding, gonna hold my bouquet in those big football arms, keep track of the ring.Brother my mind is dry leaves but you always carried matches.LiteratureSilt. A prologue: Salt
" Underwater, you drift like the dust that shrugs up from the duney waste of the Empty Quarter, your abbreviated form a drawn out riposte, suspended in the grip of the salted, shallow sea. Up from beneath you rages foul neritic dross, the whole billowing gout kicked up by your fin when you kicked off of the ocean floor. Your legs are swathed in muck and the tide of it will take you soon, all of you, your reaching hand and black eyes and the sapphiric water hanging above your rising darkness will all become unclear to me. You have become unclear to me. The boat that brought you here went quiet so that you could jump. Its motor ...LiteratureDidymo: Chapter Two. (Algae)
Chapter Two. Experimental Design. This little room we’ve settled into is, of course, our graduate student’s home. She isn’t here, so you needn’t worry. Can you hear her? She’s outside in the garden, talking to Ivan the landlord. If we’re very quiet, we could listen at the crack of the window. Do you really care to? I’m not sure I do. We can only look at her room with such impunity for a few minutes, and we’ll hear enough from her later. She’ll escape Ivan eventually. Her room is a lily white thing, and it would be claustrophobically small if it weren’t for the lofted ceiling. The windows help too, broad as they are and open to the ...
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