I remember the very first time I fell in love. It was May 25th, 1977. On break, in the shadows, behind the new San Francisco Century on Market, planet Tatooine, as a moody Luke Skywalker fawned the anarchy of twilight’s double suns.
I have a brother who isn’t a boy at all, but a fish.
When I tell people this, most of them chuckle politely, their bustling minds already flicking past the youthful imaginings of the charming little boy. That is, until they’ve seen him with their own eyes. My brother with his transparent fins and gills cut into the side of his neck and of course- the sea of shimmering scales that secretly hold all the colours of the world.
And the name of the star is called Wormwood…
Pus star Wormwood glowered ceaselessly in the cigarette sky. Although it was only midday, Wormwood pulled long shadows from the sour crabapple trees, whose fruit not even the crows will eat. Embittered little trees, Scotch broom, feral blackberries and scrub grass are all that grow in the brief ridges and ravines and knolls that serve as the community “backyard” throughout the valley. During wildfire season the broom pods burst and the smoky wind disperses their dusty spore. During wildfire season it’s easy to believe in hell.
Here we are at Week 223.
Another seven days have came and went.
I read this week that a kid’s first word was ‘Alexa’ – The parents were so proud and thought it was a bit of a laugh. I think it’s sad.
It was official. Martin McClintock was scheduled for recall. Recall was his name for it. He’d also heard revoke, the big take back, shit outta luck (that was the sinners’ special), and the Rapture. That was a favorite of the bible thumpers. Whatever it was called didn’t matter though. His number was up and he knew it as soon as he opened his mailbox. Continue reading
Ultimatums arise, spread wings and words selected by energies:
Listen; The mercury is resolved. Beneath my hand Earth passes
a quick shadow, recollects the distinction of breath. New feathers
find warm wing to grow from. Cup and juice, Earth and seed, are
one. The secret is the grip. By the finger nails if need be. Mostly
by one corner of the mind, an edge where roots strike, curl like a
rattler. Sometimes the heart’s enough.