Low tide at the port
When the tide is low and moon spills silver in the silence of the swells; when ships have truce for once with sea; when every tavern in the port has […]
Category Archives: Real Toads
Praying to the stars
Some nights I seek the violence a stars miasma of relentless plasma, unfor- giving our sins. I think of glaciers, marrows melting, oceans rising; of missiles, ash and missions, bones […]
Morning Reflections
Morning water-mirrored, mountain appearation seems reversed unless you know what’s up or down; like when you read the morning paper reflecting if the world (and its words) has turned the […]
Silence of after
The silence of after is never the drabness of drought in a colorless sky or tethered forevers of echoing whys (?) The silence of after are shadows of laughter spilled […]
Filling my hollow
The shadow of Meursault is thinner than Raskalonikov’s… which is the reason why it ends the way it does, but still in part, I wish that there would be a […]
