Tuesday, June 18, 2019


and what supports it?  Night's hands & a memory of sky.  Remember, colors are memories' gestures as much as taste.   As much as a pronouncement of nouns & verbs which as we all know is an international cuisine.


Sometimes, the poisonous calls our name.  A ripening nightshade.  An act of benevolent nature. The name Whippersnapper says it all with gleefully anticipation.  All that remains is -- taste.  And the koan -- how many cherry tomatoes make a salad?

When a red thread is involved

language is music and music is language.  At the center, an invisible spoon quietly stirs all the word-gestures of the day.  And night.

Wednesday, May 29, 2019

A passing glance is no snapshot

but impressionistic, for sure. I think of ingredients
before the meal is created.  The alphabet before a poem
created, before the poem spoken.  Of course, this is
a Mother-in-Law plant which I have always called by
its popular name -- snake.  Anyone remember poetry
at Forked Tongue?


& the otherworldly.  Similar to punctuation & a poem, don't you think?  Knife to bread as bread gives up the notion of being single.  

The underlying language

Call it subtext.  Call it creative inference.  Call it the poem about to coalesce. Call it supper.  This amount of mango & tomatoes will be yummy.  And look the sky is blue.  The gray?  Just someone passing by.

Saturday, May 25, 2019

I see new growth

might as well be new shoots on the flowering jasmine.  But then again, I'm drawn to black ink, black coffee & an unwavering love of concrete.  Love the surface of concrete.  Much depth there.  Like layering flavors in a salad.  Or arranging words into a petite poem beginning with "thus."  Or ending.