Shed by Bree
A UNIVERSE OF WHAT
I am invisible
But I am rain.
The color of rain
Invents the air
And I am trembling
In the language here
In white wings.
In here, a heart
Enormous in its
Own universe of what?
My toys, or, we say,
Tears. No, tears.
Rain, No, tides.
No, thighs and a wrist.
Creeping, rushing, waiting
For the gate that is a hand
For sleep. Let’s have some.
Let’s have our own kingdom.
Look what flutters down
From trees that smile
Not caring about tomorrow.
We dive, naked with rain.
Touching as much as possible
On the way down.
We are as foolish as yes.
We drip from the eaves,
The edges of the world.
~ D. R. Wagner
VIDEO BY TIM GREEN (DAD)
Photo by Heather Ann Shepard
Photo by Heather Ann Shepard
Photo by cm brooks
Bloom by JJ Stick
RAIN ON OCTOBER 2
All night and into the
Morning the rain falls
Outside my windows
Washing away the
Persistent fears that
The fires of last October
Might return to visit
This October those
They missed before
Feeling safer for now
I listen to the rain
The gentle wind
In the oak trees
All the music I need
As darkness grudgingly
Gives way to the
Light of another day
~ Arcangelini
“Light” is the tiniest fraction of the electromagnetic spectrum: remarkably close to zero.
We (only) see in the visible.
The privileging of light — the entirety of color — is anthropomorphism every bit as much as the attribution of feeling to animals.
It bears repeating: what other pomorphism would you expect anthropos to employ?
~ Terry Provost
Today’s view by Yogi Jen
KARMIC STRIP
I used to sail up denial
mile after mile of reprisal
drinking bitter brew
In fact, still do
Weary worry bone deep hurry
running lies up the line
leaping looping time
Worshiping fool
It’s in this niche that
the nose knows
the toes goes
Karma’s after fact
~ Steven B. Smith
She whispers welcome to
the tongue of morning this
tree of poem. In my house
I sleep on the never ending
silence of overflowing ashtrays
and empty cupboards. Yet today
my head is spinning staring at
an apple cloud mirror. How
quickly her breath has entered
mine even the room is breathing
as I embrace these secrets from
behind an unlocked door.
~ Russell Vidrick
Hello Chicago by Michael Salinger
PIGEON DISH GROTTO
All morning
the prayer
like excellence
leaves one’s head
to fill the atmosphere
with more hot air.
The alarm follows
God everywhere.
The question begs
for plastic bags.
There is not time
as heartbeats per second.
There are head bobs
per best foot forward.
In time,
everything flaps
like scripture.
Turning pages.
Finding love.
Taking flight.
The weight of the world.
– Agram Bigsby
Perfect Fit by Steven B. Smith
– FIN –