not a pretty picture. not a good. not a bad. picture. but an argument.

Wednesday, February 8, 2012

even the moon can be written upon

as familiar as the rock upon me like a chest is and the trees bearing down on me

as familiar, 
this bare page breathing, 


  1. ..bare page breathing..
    I come here, look up at the page you sent off and here you are breathing too.

  2. as if the self is only one breath that dissolves in this landscape

    as if that one breath is written on, or by, the moon, or the memory of the moon

  3. we breathe in so many different ways, rosaria))

    ollie, i laugh. desolation is what many would and have called it. this was the sudbury landscape the other day. you would be familiar with it. i don't say desolation though, not any more. instead i say, opportunity.

    james, the falling through stratospheres and unbecoming to become, who said i was what and when? i am here but gone.



"Words at the limit of hearing, attributable to no one, received in the conch of the ear like dew by a leaf." (philippe jaccottet) or even a quiet presence is appreciated))