Tuesday, December 22, 2009


Now for the words that cannot be spoken in polite company. The words that I won't say here. The words I won't say anywhere. But I remember blueberry blue and the smell of milk. And I remember the crushing end of nothing and so many things. A future, a beginning. But not mine. Yours.

Wednesday, December 2, 2009

limestone leaks.

Calpe, I'm calling your name and begging for clemency. I stand here, bearing your weight with a straight back and ask you to let me crumble. This monolith is tired and my calcite bones ache to put down their armor. Let me sink into the straits and lay with Moorish castles covered over by sand and salt.

Take this moment and claim it before it disappears into the fog that tangles the view over my shoulder. I give you and this and now all of the hopes I don't hope and dreams I don't dream.

Take from me what you can, while you can. I am running out of words.