b1gfan

Hooded men exit the dark distance, street lights hovering like minuscule suns. I tug the dog's leash back, telling him we'll wait for the real one come morning. I suspect daylight brings safety: there are always witnesses that time, they can peep out their windows without the obfuscation of night. But then I think about the kitchen floor years ago one morning, three armed men about my age searching for anything to fill that tunneling void inside themselves, like worms. I could still see their faces, fear- and anger-struck, despite their hoodies. Oh, they took everything they could get except our lives, the one thing they b

it's not the eggs or milk or bread that I'm after it's the sound lonely is quiet and when the silence screams I must fill it with other people's noise

my Dear i just noticed my balcony is shaped like wings and the wind is billowing the moon up, up to-night in her dusty purple garb and i think no Dear i do not want to leave here: where men build bridges over oceans and live inside of mountains like river dragons where the sun shines not at all at noon but gleams like an orange at sundown where the moon walks home surefooted to where my neck cannot crane

08.03.31 newly born leaves announce white trees still dormant 08.03.30 fading path o' fire not earth but clouds set the sun 08.03.29 pouring rain beating down night's beats running up that hill 08.03.28 the ocean there, the river behind, rain all 'round water devouring the world 08.03.27 el río presagia un lejano nuevo mundo la otra orilla 08.03.26 [P]woot [P]head [P]heaven 08.03.25 esa nostalgia de casa, de sí mismo a saudade 08.03.24 inquieta la mar mediterránea estalla 08.03.23 clouds and sea turn dark and jointly attack. the shore bows out 08.03.22 awe. striking wind. silently bow to thy

A portrait of Mercado Belén at 7 in the morning - sawing a cow's leg - a shirtless man in a newspaper wrap playing with knives - the butcher's daughter chases bloody flies falling rain cleaning the fruit muddying streets meat market dogs lap water from bloody trenches out the door - tossed scraps topped with vultures