the blue lightbears with the slim stream of snow flies

16 Dec

Clark Stabel

i wasnt in the mood for going out into the street. room temperature having a lot to do with it since it was freezing outside and more snow was coming. i had to get home soon. but trains would be less frequent and that would mean waiting, waiting for a train with my fingers biting into themselves just to create friction and then the orange light pouring over the sprinkles of ice dust which were getting in my eyes.

the moment i climbed the stairs, the ancient stairway held together with thick slabs of steel, which would freeze a brown rat’s scalp scurrying past and which made every sound possible at midnight despite the pain i put into being as quiet as possible.

trains always take their time at this hour and just when you are there on high enjoying the silence, wondering how solitude was possible in this kind of megalopolis, the people would rise from the dead, like rats, on their way to work.

what is

10 Dec

Susan Scutti

on the wall encaustic paintings contain separate fevers
and hang like untasted fruit

Sunday is a widening curve
the membrane bends in silence
as memories cascade

rain has been selected to distill this mood
while fire is meant to release the spirit
inhale the transporting smoke, exhale a vacating mind

there is little in this world that is meant to keep
but the sound of machines still fill the air
and the clouded sky never ends

without title

1 Dec

Clark Stabel

the dawn may be as cold as your face
or the steps that lead to the fire
but the snow that brought silence ever so suddenly to the night
now awakens the morning
and curtains stuck to the window
like lips under duress

nearly 12 miles

1 Dec

Susan Scutti

again we are here suspended above the earth
confident of the unspooling night
newly aware that the other is the self and not

we are without our fathers
as icy waters surround this accumulation of concrete and sadness
the surface of our alienation serrated like a knife

although our gestures fail on occasion
we hear the call of birds as we walk impoverished avenues
chill winds discovering the island of our face

28 Nov

by Raphael Moser

sunrise foolish and able
And big hearted all the same
Vascular shadows
Circumambulate the mountainside
The water still in the channel
As the temperature drops
Perhaps it is time
Wait listed beside the oratory


25 Nov

Clark Stabel

The trees cannot hear
What the world cannot bear
The shifting stones of the tendering leaves
The darkness in the spilling rain
And filling veins of running
Black pools obscure the depths
And memories are made too of heartache
And you cannot fake the promise of wreaths and other twisted foliage
Feeling the good crisp breeze.

21 Nov

Raphael Moser

It was a welcoming blue
Massive and deep
Like a surrogate object
In the desert
The large V navigating the territory
A miniature version in lead
Holding the void
The blue smiling


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