can de pobo 2

for A

honey moon or stars

tripped out on tryptophan (universe of sleep unfolds) :: for A

when it february snowed

stamen and women

It was Saturday and I decided to get my love some flowers. I had already bought all the hyacinths and we’d eaten most of them, those that didn’t rot in the premature spring of our home. In the morning I was full from eating rice and vinegar, so I went out into the garden and found that flowers grew there.

for my Love

Little Sandy

Once at Deep Creek, one is liable to succumb to an aggressive revelry of images that are either alienated in our reality or alienate the viewer from the viewer’s reality. These images are not images, but a multitude of things that do not care about reality; the Earth is not warming, but we are warming; our bodies are not dying but we are dissolving until our body without organs is the totality of our reality. There is no reality. Little Sandy is not a diner. The hats on the wall are not hats with mesh backs but a multitude of realities re-created by every bite of our frozen waffles, reheated just enough to remind us that they have been thawed, and that they, like us, were once under ice.

on the way home it snowstormed

yes, this one is of course for you, Love

bouquet

Some flowers I found for my love. I found them in the fall, when I was hungry, and full from eating fresh rice and vinegar. I kept them in a tin box that smelled of jasmine for a time. When I came back to them, they had become filled with blood, and I gave them to my love.