the missed spaces, the missed places, the missed times, the missed rhymes, the missed persons I could have been or will be, the fear that restricts me, the choices that elate me, the food that prolongs, the life that kills and opens and winds up and scares and tears and screws, inspires and heightens and pitches and rolls and drowns and crowns and takes hold of and molds and breaks and pours into and empties and burns.

and here we steal away together

recorded 7.1217

You will not steal my sight lines.

Adverts divulge to me their constructed images and deconstructed bodies, so gaunt that after all has been bought and ingested (by the) manufactured consumers are left hungry. Plastic regurgitations. Perpetually unsated. Purgatory without the beauty of ritual, without the nuance of contrast. Another way another angle another need another must another way to trust my desire is for the tree behind your signage. A vertical tower of melting hues gray green brown now streaming upward from the soil even in this city roots search and find and entice buried nutrients to make the pilgrimage to tree tops. Even on this December day leaves cling clasp to, caress the twigs and they flash midday light my way as the surface of water does. My eyes receive the refractions leaping toward me.

Warmth on my skin.

I want nothing.

recorded 9-12.12.17

recorded 5.12.17