Tags » May 2012

no. 5

The lisp and putter of sprinklers on wide suburban lawns, the hazy, translucent ropes of water skipping and scattering, beads of moisture dripping from opulent verdure, but no one in view, a paradise of lawyers and doctors | The great fridges, silver sarcophagi, like the coffins of spacemen from 1980s sci-fi | White concrete modernist masterpieces, planes of glass blank and glaring in the catalogue sun | Atmospheres on timers | Empty residences threaded on the hum and pulse of burglar alarms, the roving scan of discreet CCTV, the gates locked | Sometimes a man comes to service the pool | Garages full of imported cars | The library stocked with Ansel Adams and Nabokov and Catullus | Bathrooms appointed with elegant Italian sanitary ware, basins sculpted into pale organic forms, ovaloids like Brancusis | The gazebo, the Swedish cabin, the Fragonard swing, the woods | In the bedrooms, a faint scent of camphor and beeswax… 42 more words


no. 4

The municipal authorities no longer have the budget to maintain these great graveyards as they would wish, and they become sites of semi-feral energy inside the boundaries of the metropolitan area | Places of dogs and foxes, gravestones tagged with enigmatic graffiti, trysts for lovers and addicts who leave behind used condoms and needles | Not only the dead themselves, but the edifices erected to mark their passing are falling into decay | in the deep grass, one may find a pale angel’s head at one’s feet, the blind eyes looking up through lichen and ivy into that day’s sky | The cemeteries become outposts, ill-supplied colonies deep in the wilderness, but no fresh recruits will come to man these forts, they are needed elsewhere, in sleek crematoria and more modern facilities in the outer suburbs | Dusk here has a special depth… 56 more words


no. 48

Crossed paths <strangers remaining strangers> faces on contra-bound trains | lovers lost 40 years ago, how tenuous / their touch / becomes

Dipped in the void of forgotten years | that place of | no place / The silhouettes of autumn trees looming through silver drizzle, and the background mist…

58 more words


Wheat ripens to sand the sand blows away
in a cloud of fertility
The moon is full and the tides kick in their stalls
Mushrooms fire off then fade… 194 more words


no. 41

Forever staging ourselves | yet forever unsure / of the lines | and of the theatre / concocted of snow, or pixels, or trains, whatever / comes to hand, the set | made from the striving rose | of our desires, moment by moment | growing and dying | competing for light…

53 more words