Entries Tagged as 'Sensations'

Monday, May 19th, 2008

After the leap

There is noth­ing ahead but fire­light, sweet chamomile tea, four ounces of froth and eraser dust. Sud­denly, we too are chil­dren; we too are pop­pyleaf flow­ers rid­ing rogue gusts of unbri­dled wind. The solace you seek lies one octave above, above the cloud cover, above the sor­row and heavy mat­ters of dirt, scan­dal and earth. […]

Friday, October 26th, 2007

Sensations

Wednesday, October 24th, 2007

Sensations

Tuesday, October 2nd, 2007

morning anew

Six AM sun still slow
bite the chill of morn­ing air and
a win­dow left ajar
sirens and city noise are your ser­e­nade
as you stretch and shake off
cob­webs of yes­ter­day.
Seven.
–8/28/2004

Friday, August 31st, 2007

Sensations

Wednesday, June 14th, 2006

Vignettes I

We sit in the van breath­ing the same air, together in the seven-seater as a fam­ily for the first time in many years. “It’s so weird,” my sis­ter insists, “it’s so weird, grad­u­at­ing.” Four hun­dred fam­i­lies had cel­e­brated her grad­u­at­ing class that after­noon.
My dad looks over the driver’s seat, “How does it feel?”
“It’s a weird feeling,” […]

Sunday, March 12th, 2006

picturesque.

Some­times you wish you had a cam­era with you, but I’m glad I don’t this time. It’s quite pic­turesque, this view with the Bay Bridge lit by the glit­ter­ing gold of sky and watery reflected light, framed by the omi­nous pres­ence of fast-floating rain­clouds (with troves and spots and col­ors of blues, pur­ples and electric […]

Saturday, January 14th, 2006

it sounds blue

Last night I dreamt again I was play­ing the piano. It was a melan­choly piece, set to rain­drops echo­ing off roof shin­gles. I was play­ing by sight, with no direc­tion or clo­sure in mind. It was sim­ple, just: play what comes to mind and to ear.
I played in D# minor, no par­tic­u­lar rea­son except that I’ve […]

Thursday, November 10th, 2005

scales

A Let­ter:
God, I want the real thing. Don’t let me set­tle for any­thing less.
I want to be around the crazy ones, whose hearts’ eyes fill to the brim with hopeLove­Faith and they see that ambi­tion ful­filled before their lives are over.
They are like Kerouac’s mad ones; mad to live, mad to burn, mad to throw them­selves recklessly […]

Wednesday, September 28th, 2005

Reading, but not Remembering

Her voice is low, husky, tinged with sad­ness, she speaks in a tone that whis­pers melan­choly.
Mar­garet Tread­bar, from St. Louis. She’s a stroke sur­vivor who can­not recall any­thing in her short term mem­ory. She can read, but will not remem­ber once the book­ends close.
She’s regained her speech and relearned read­ing from scratch. But any­thing she reads, […]