(a haiku)
summer rains, stars rise —
taking the long way home I
am mugged by fireflies
(a haiku)
summer rains, stars rise —
taking the long way home I
am mugged by fireflies
Every love story is a ghost story.
David Foster Wallace
in a flyover state where
the trains do not stop
but chug on toward the
hills, a quiet chord drifts
out over the darkling
plains and is lost for ever
to the wind and rain and
perhaps we are only
this: ghosts before our
time burning through
books burning through
women burning through
ourselves hoping to find
Camelot.
oceans away — a place
where nobody speaks the
language of the heartland
— you wait for the Q44 to
take you home. lights
alight. church bells toll
the hour. tonight the
street is empty and the
night is empty and the
moon will not rise and
there will be no stars to
guide you home. only the
dumpster fires rage on,
filled with the debris of
yesterday.
I got this window that looks out to Orion / I paid extra for