Torsade Literary Space Now to Steal (poem)
Now to Steal His legatees can’t feel In the moment they are disowned Can’t themselves waste-binned A thread of white tape unwound from the screws A stain sinking iron back to intimacy For a heaven’s afternoon in unfilled pockets Of its first home There has only been A daughter’s daughter Lightly […]
Boat Rentals (poem)
Boat Rentals She tilts up a shutter Her cart is cereal-box proportioned Plywood corners puff like biscuits Coated flyspecks score like nail tips She issues metal tokens Her hair Grey with a cast of butter Lanking it iridescent like an abalone The bones say pretty met misfortune Hours of commerce […]
My Blog Week: March 29 to April 4
All the Latest from Torsade! News! I’m up to the last couple of passages, soon to have finished the first draft…in short, I’ll be posting a Southern Gothic ghost story for you, in the summertime. Meanwhile, above, art for The Mirrors, […]
Eight: Milieu (poetry series)
Milieu You like and you don’t like Thin chances but first to subtract aplomb A fellow’s duty done Subtract an unobstructed view and brace Like Dr. Bellows dressed In oilskins, your slumbering other self Can’t help but help Be national interviewee miked and lensed Smooth criminal’s aileron roll on hurricane winds A […]
The Totem-Maker: The Recalcitrant One (part eight)
The Totem-Maker Chapter Seven The Recalcitrant One (part eight) Now as with many walled cities…as with Monsecchers, I had once mentioned…here were tunnels having secret openings, passages where a single body might squeeze between jagged rocks, or wriggle free among tangled roots. And watches would not be set over these […]
What Would I Do (poem)
What Would I Do I, what would I You’ve come to such a jaded heart Asking participation Modern in your diction saying Join the conversation You talk of people in their shells But watch them leave the trenches Watch them start and dart the salvo Find they’ve grown the legs of a […]
Fortune (poem)
Fortune I was a hired paw to rid the land of vermin I was not idle as accused Nor so important as to be The plague and not her servant Her vector stirred among the coverlets Ricocheting with her whispers Into willing ears and lodging Under eyelids bringing tears My Hearer, it […]