Month: October 2019

FREEWRITING EXERCISE #58

If a body is a pocket of possibilities thenmine is full of change. These past few weeks, I have rediscovered discovery. redrawn all the lines. O Joy –my days are a loopthat begin and end with saying your name.My days are polaroid photos dangling light from twine-vined walls.There are too many thingsI want to send […]

FREEWRITING EXERCISE #57

There is no bastion left for me in this uncharted territory. The birds have stopped tweetingtheir daily prayer, and images undownload themselves into the aether. What I wanted was some peace to act like I never knew anything but. Every path forward is a path intothe waiting jaws of a sleeping beardreaming about an emotion […]

FREEWRITING EXERCISE #56

The world is the shiny bald head of an infant,an egg waiting to be cracked over a pan. I imagine if the Earth would be dropped from a great, great height it’d burst likea water balloon at that child’s first birthday partywhere they first learn the limits of their lungs and limbs.We are constantly walking […]

FREEWRITING EXERCISE #55

like a vine it growsover the living room walls we’re seated there in the palm of some unseeing god the fingers, tenseand ready to closein with all the gentle rage of a mother it has been seven days sinceI last saw the sun I know it has been seven days because I have been counting […]

FREEWRITING EXERCISE #54

Let’s say we see the world in frames,let’s say everything is visual. Imagine this – a field of birds, spilling into sky; the solitary path of a pigeon touched as gently as a shotgun can. Picture a bird gingerly leaving its nest, satinside the open mouth of a cadaver. That’s how the world will reinvent […]

FREEWRITING EXERCISE #53

Drawing out a line, extending from the forearm of a man you’ve lovedto forget, you are heading down yetanother backalley into a town with no name but yours. Your name on the streets, like a flock of birds, a mob of hungry hungry cars, running to death on fumes and long-fought wars. At times, you […]

FREEWRITING EXERCISE #52

Like a fisherman on the shore,pulling out the deep sea like a brush stroke, a long drag from someone else’s cigarette, and the pitter-patter of ink blots on a worm-eaten pier. I am self-diagnosing problems in the name of poetry. If poetry is, as old men put, the best words in the best order, doesorder […]