playground some color replacement soy bean oil 1 ice ice baby

Tuesday, March 31, 2009

Some Thing

It glitters in the light of morning. Found. Held atop the railing by a rock or heavier. Trellis covered with drops of rain. Or small glistening splinters of metal. The sun plays tricks. Metal or water? Air or water. It hangs like a cross might if worn around my neck. It swings. It shines. The metal is real. From here. From here it is real.

Sunday, March 15, 2009

Tonight I boil beets and rub them with my hands to gently remove the skin. They are red, redder than I am used to. What other red is this red? Is it wine? An apple? Strawberry juice. Tomato red. The reddest red that I can think.

But nothing is this red, this purply red against stainless steel sink, yellow colander, early evening light of March through my kitchen window. Red stains my hands. Red stains my lips. My teeth. Red stains the sky when nothing is left.

I have a heart. A beet. A heart.

Saturday, March 14, 2009

Dreaming in Fiction

Fiction's the thing, to catch the conscience of the queen.

I know. I borrowed it. I've been thinking about writing a little fiction--using it in the way that Hamlet uses the play.

Play within a play within a play.

Wednesday, March 11, 2009

Back

The rain is plinkety plinking outside my window. Honey colored grass taller than a person grows next to snow. It is mixed up. All mixed up this weather it doesn't know what to be. I don't know what to be, come to think of it. Today I feel like writing. This is all that I know.