diving galaxies behind,
beyond my eyelids
into crevasse of mind
deep heart of universe
collapsing, revealing
origin
of black expanse
of eternal presence
sublime of aeons
reciprocal gaze
know me
who,
Am i
Category: Poem
explanation
she was never really glad to be here
here, as in, born,
here,
or at all, anywhere
not really, no
still,
she paced herself
bided, abided the days which turned into decades
in the city
she moved out of the city
she moved out to the country
she paced her herself
bided, abided the days which turned into months and years
in the country
one more/
one more/
one more/
one more/
one more/
one more/
one more/
intruder
let them know she was killed
in a struggle with an intruder in the house
then let them know she was the intruder
then let them know she was the house
undo
i sometimes wake myself speaking to you aloud from my dreams
the Lake carries my voice
in one direction, west, at night;
if i’m being truthful,
in sunlight too
do you hear me in your sleep,
or when awake, in your perfect nest, your perfect, structural roost
no rest then, no rest now,
“be” or “do”,
and, “do” won out
transubstantiation
in my winter cocoon
enveloped in sheets and blankets
my eyes closed all day
these damned windows,
seams of daylight break
through fiber,
try and force their way through slits and lashes,
i resist
pink lids, i won’t study and map
your capillary streams / birds, please don’t sing / i refuse to perceive anything but my own inlands
i don’t feed
i don’t drink
i don’t think
i don’t move
i don’t feel
i only let
Continue reading “transubstantiation”a good melancholy
a phantom history
an entire phantom life, not mere limb
one i didn’t know i had, to begin with,
let alone, lost /out, on/
a door to a paralleling universe
and no wormhole key
the hours
in the days before their deaths
which could now practically and reasonably
be measured in hours,
she began liminal dreaming
even during daytime
and she saw a white horizon
containing a silhouette of golden-amber woods alit like filigree
and a golden-amber house, likewise
and she knew the house was for her
and she was not afraid
sunday
my feelings, brimming / about to spill onto the floor/ i’ve got no strength, bread or bucket / to sop or mop them anymore/
worth
i measure my worth
in deer so at ease they’ll eat kale from the garden, less than five meters from my door
by a home-cooked meal eaten together, while still hot
in heritage Jimson weed blooms, all lemony on summer nights
& harvested, unblemished squash on autumn afternoons
in brown bats, sighted overhead at dusk from the stoop
in thriving houseplants, all properly named and specifically watered
in clean sinks, sheets, floors and birdbaths
by pages read, no matter
by the number of rabbits who see me and then, still choose to ignore my presence
in folks, walking exhausted, in heat, rain, cold or snow, who accept my offer, and climb into my truck with their groceries or booze — for a lift home
in miles walked with the dog, and in my stilled-patience as he endlessly interprets the “news” thoroughly with his nose,
in native prairie plants restored, by my own hand, New England asters, ironweed, sweetgrass, coneflower, have all the mercy,
in minutes spent on the phone with my son,
my golden boy. across two time zones
“for all your fine washables”
the mundane,
it reminds
amnesiac
my amnesia is nearly complete
i can barely conjure
what it felt
like
to
l_ve
Neolexia: Arte Digitora
Arte Digitora, alternatively, arte digitora, artedigitora, #artedigitora
Arte Digitora is art/e that is organically, intentionally or incidentally created, conceptualized or derived from intentional or incidental digital/cellular communication and/or collaboration and hosted primarily – though not always exclusively – in digital space-time.
The art/e primarily consists of digital/cellular communication text content including email correspondence; word-processing documents; text and direct messaging conversation blocks or bubbles; shared photos, images, screenshots, icons/reacts/emojis; shares and links; voice clips/messages; and social media comments — using a variety of digital/cellular applications and platforms; anonymity or identity may be implied, preserved, protected or negotiated.
This art/e is created, conceptualized, utilized or reproduced by one or more participant humans based on singular, multiple, continuing or abandoned digital/cellular communications; it may be fixed i.e., “locked” and immutable, or the art/e can be fluid, altered, edited, deleted, interpreted, archived or restored in its original form or any subsequent altered/edited form by any of the the original communicators or subsequently, by those with access.
Arte Digitora are not NFTs, but NFTs may contain elements of arte digitora.
Any Arte Digitora may be migrated and reproduced in physical space in the form of inspired or derivative 2D or 3D works such as prints, photos, books, sculpture, crafts or objects, or as audio/visual, performance, tactile or projection art.
from Wikipedia:
Art is a diverse range of human activity, and resulting product, that involves creative or imaginative talent expressive of technical proficiency, beauty, emotional power, or conceptual ideas.
from Wiktionary:
- Having to do with digits (fingers or toes); performed with a finger.
- Property of representing values as discrete, often binary, numbers rather than a continuous spectrum.
- Of or relating to computers or the Information Age.
New Me.
And, most of the World,
well, at least, the entire mattering World
came together
for one brilliant night and
even part of the next morning
with a somewhat contemplative,
protracted, very long, somewhat meditative
five ENTIRE minutes squeezed in between
And, it came to pass that there
were nearly 18 continuous hours
of agreed-upon
global activism and change-making
that had not been witnessed for exactly
364.24153644 days, previously
The World’s manifesto:
Whereas, starting tomorrow, January 1
life will be better,
so much better, different, good, great even
Again, they each individually proclaimed:
starting tomorrow, January 1
life will,
might, may, could be better, so much better, different, good — or great, even!
Ahem, that is, to be clear, not your life,
just mine.
new year, new me.
Me. Me. Me.
keep your Sun,
give me the Moon.
The Very Last Zeptosecond of 11:59:59: pm on december 31st
the future ending
and re-beginning
in one, arbitrary moment
old year’s, new year’s ode
And she took a bath
and washed her hair
and cleansed her [w]hol[l]y self of that
grimy year
though 365 memories remain in the dark roots of thousands of her golden strands,
but, more are silver now
Out into the cold air,
pitch black, save for waxing gibbous Moon
naked,
open pores,
bare feet,
wet hair,
pouring her bathwater into a remnant patch
of snow-covered ground
drain and septic are unfit for this ceremony
Let this vintage
permeate the garden/
recharge the aquifer from which she bathes and drinks/ evaporate into cycles of the atmosphere that she breathes /
breathe, human, woman, breathe
believe this, yet better, know this:
everything is ouroboros.
nothing ever begins.
nothing ever ends.
nothing.
the limineen | earthling, poet & crone 