tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20020520193253802402023-04-17T10:09:33.800-04:00Physicist, entrepreneur, storytellerUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger274125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2002052019325380240.post-79395933769848484192013-12-05T14:41:00.000-05:002013-12-05T14:42:08.034-05:00

It started with your voice, your shimmering breath spiraling downward through the water's depth - calling - so strange! - my name. I rose, undreamed, and came to you. Across that space it seemed the world unfolded of itself, a findern flower, pheasant's eye, the unfilled cistern of your heart. Then I came upon you, lost, pitiful - until you saw me there, ghost of your ghost, shade of your

Unknownnoreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2002052019325380240.post-20165507894158945082013-10-03T01:20:00.001-04:002013-10-03T01:22:06.522-04:00

Only the sea keeps crossing the chasm Inside the tornado, gravity, the conjuror’s bird glimpses the possible past: the hundred secret senses, the gates of exquisite view

Unknownnoreply@blogger.com40tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2002052019325380240.post-63349130270897462272013-04-25T15:38:00.001-04:002014-10-16T21:18:14.355-04:00

On the waves, the shadow of this loneliness trails and lengthens. Its arms reach out for you, trembling like the sigh of a lost soul. Last light, and my despair engulfs this night, sky-wide, ocean-deep.

Unknownnoreply@blogger.com46tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2002052019325380240.post-33384376990178811122013-03-16T12:00:00.001-04:002021-04-04T23:25:44.816-04:00

Six inches, after the first storm. A whir of blades across the snow-packed pavement's trench, and the blower splattered across the fence a Pollock canvas, an hoarfrost-strewn blur from the Tecumseh engine's angry burr. Against winter, this is your armament - a 2-stage, 11-hp, 30-inch, pull-start, self-propelled silverback monster. She fought back with seven inches, her scrawl strafed across

Unknownnoreply@blogger.com42tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2002052019325380240.post-47826989752782473842013-02-27T07:42:00.003-05:002021-04-04T23:29:06.840-04:00

Midwinter closes. This afternoon's snow, that melted in droplets on this surface of frail glass, transfigures into ice. From where I stand, outside, the hall light's glow paints a refracted portrait of your face, a palette of sadness, pain, of sacrifice. Each frozen prism, ice lens, a cameo of suffering, a Murano glass trace of time wearing down these, our fragile lies. And will this be how I

Unknownnoreply@blogger.com41tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2002052019325380240.post-22832186204352040282013-01-29T07:13:00.000-05:002013-06-03T00:27:57.741-04:00

Moonlight cast its perfumed spell, beloved, Down on me – and you as well, beloved. Unworthy, I beheld you, veiled; but O The heavens parted, and I fell, beloved. I would sweep across the desert rampart To your side, this thirst to quell, beloved. I would bind myself to sanctuary In your arms, embrace this cell, beloved. God sever this cursed tongue and stitch these lips, Should I ever say

Unknownnoreply@blogger.com55tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2002052019325380240.post-25729367613115586512013-01-03T12:18:00.003-05:002014-10-16T21:18:14.298-04:00

I remember sunlight, clear as divination, an open palm of bright meteorology. I remember the world splayed open like an unfolded map, the castle’s ridged latitude scaled against the carp-mouth breathing flow and ebb of the Otagawa river’s stream, swirling and swift. I remember the wind whirling through branches, the elms thumb-tacked onto the landscape like

Unknownnoreply@blogger.com36tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2002052019325380240.post-37812545271340769912012-11-29T18:08:00.000-05:002014-10-16T21:18:14.320-04:00

You remember - perhaps more than love – the staircase of uncounted hours, conscientious reason, past disdain of feeling. Geometry sets out simple propositions, axioms: We follow those axioms, derived, reduced to the last question, unanswerable by the methods of geometry. We cannot ask. We can only say that geometry deals with two, tally assertions, the word ‘true’, the

Unknownnoreply@blogger.com23tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2002052019325380240.post-66583789222015340882012-11-22T02:05:00.002-05:002014-10-16T21:18:14.361-04:00

Tonight, I am six again, and your hands hold me shivering there, anchored to your shoulders, navigating waters lapping now my knees, your chest, rising like the storm’s dark curse. Now here, your gnarled hand in mine, in prayer, I bow my head and thank what vagrant providence gave me you - if only for this briefest time, this night - who laddered me to higher ground, my weathered ark, my rock

Unknownnoreply@blogger.com21tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2002052019325380240.post-60164977312054884172012-09-26T23:17:00.002-04:002013-06-03T00:27:57.742-04:00

1 Here in the secret annex Look – how a single candle can define and yet defy the darkness 2 The reason I’m starting a diary is that I have no real friend Neither I nor anyone else, for that matter, may be interested in the musings of a thirteen-year-old schoolgirl It doesn’t matter. I feel like writing. The young are not afraid of telling the truth. But more than that, I want to draw

Unknownnoreply@blogger.com31tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2002052019325380240.post-89200028650026125782012-08-30T07:34:00.001-04:002013-06-03T00:27:57.744-04:00

You bear to me your avocado love That I may taste of tenderness and sweet. Your bliss of flesh, your fragrant heart, A warmth that spreads through this my fervent heart. Oh, to let me ravish you as spring’s love Ravishes the branches with its verdant, sweet Embrace. Oh, to let me press these lips, sweet, Against your cheek, rain’s punctuative art In kisses on the skin. Bear me thus your love

Unknownnoreply@blogger.com46tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2002052019325380240.post-21464112232930195942012-08-19T21:50:00.000-04:002012-08-21T21:59:35.658-04:00

You have been my woman’s lover now for seven years, ever since your two souls met at La Isla Negra. Yes, I have known about your assignations for some time, your breakfast tête-à-têtes, your late-night trysts, midday intermezzos punctuated by wine and passionate exclamation. I have unearthed your letters, your amorous affirmations secreted in her books, your verses excerpted in diaries. I

Unknownnoreply@blogger.com32tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2002052019325380240.post-10305836838063638442012-08-17T09:47:00.000-04:002012-08-19T23:03:17.979-04:00

Tonight I am looking at the moonthat was the moonin your sky last night.I stir and walk, and youwalk with me,you in the Friday morning hazeand I underneath this Thursday skythat was your sky last night.Far off, the world begins to turnin its unfinished current,rain falls, the month changes color,the windrift waversbetween stillness and monsoon. But I,I feel no need to question

Unknownnoreply@blogger.com31tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2002052019325380240.post-17712101057538417392012-07-31T09:03:00.000-04:002012-07-31T07:34:15.896-04:00

The world will come to an end tonight. Not with comets slanting through the rafters, Or tidal waves surging across the coast, Or the braze of volcanoes, unsubmerged. Not with the earth’s decimated orbit Spiralling it into a strangled sun, Not with the rush of spurious armies Turning fallow the scope of mankind’s dreams. But with the last of your kiss, fading From the sepulchre of these lips

Unknownnoreply@blogger.com39tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2002052019325380240.post-88121161647126158122012-07-23T20:16:00.000-04:002014-10-16T21:18:14.388-04:00

I am making love to the ghost of you, blindfolded by the gauze of your pillow instead of meeting the gaze of your eyes, hands clutching myself instead of your thighs, crying out your name and hearing only silence. I am embracing history, what I can conjure of our moments past, the length and breadth of you that could not last. I pull to myself the absence of your hips, impale these sheets as

Unknownnoreply@blogger.com26tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2002052019325380240.post-10488216320718363532012-06-23T22:08:00.000-04:002012-08-05T11:55:15.069-04:00

after Kotaro Takamura How more beautiful you are, with every veil, Every adornment, shed. Your body, by the wash of years refined; Boundless, like a meteor. Your soul, insubstantial to vanity or scandal, Moving swiftly, as desire. How long, centuries? Before this consummation Into woman? There, wrapped in your silence, it is as if you were Creation’s first triumph. Ah, sometimes my heart

Unknownnoreply@blogger.com38tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2002052019325380240.post-5751318282139010122012-06-12T01:36:00.000-04:002013-02-14T15:38:40.283-05:00

Because your father stopped in Strandja park to point out that whirligig of wings – blue argus, he said, Ultraaricia Anteros – you were dazzled forever. Those wings wafted you here, ten thousand six hundred kilometres away, to the University of California, Davis. Encyclopedia of Insects in arm, you haul yourself up the stairwell of Briggs Hall. Your frail sandal spindles on the threshold –

Unknownnoreply@blogger.com34tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2002052019325380240.post-45898706243876100912012-06-03T00:19:00.000-04:002014-10-16T21:18:14.329-04:00

Promenading down the boulevard, that early June morning in Amstelveen, down Piet de Winterlaan, miles away from the circus pitch before the trainers have caught on - we see the vista from our coffee room window, a splendid procession bridging the street – fifteen camels, two zebras, a clutch of llamas, a shuffle of elephants, and loping in the lead, the giraffes. Having kicked down the

Unknownnoreply@blogger.com34tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2002052019325380240.post-34463935917794415692012-05-30T20:19:00.000-04:002014-10-16T21:18:14.312-04:00

The structure loosed from its foundation stones, roped and pulleyed to an anchor-point away from the crumbling cliffside – we pull. From here to the still centre of the earth, three thousand nine hundred and sixty-three miles, and all that volume of igneous, metamorphic, sedimentary rock, that mantle of iron magma, that fist of molten ore – against all that, we pull. The cables stretch and

Unknownnoreply@blogger.com27tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2002052019325380240.post-74898947108162337502012-05-20T21:56:00.000-04:002012-08-05T12:13:33.507-04:00

I have towed my father’s schooner further than any vessel has ever been pulled: two thousand, one hundred and twenty-nine kilometres, to where my spirit lies exhausted, pining like an orphaned child for a half-remembered home, far away. And I have towed icebergs, shoals of them, from where my grandfather sailed, in waters deep as the waters of creation; and whales more ponderous than any

Unknownnoreply@blogger.com55tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2002052019325380240.post-14838211534804937302012-05-07T02:15:00.000-04:002014-10-16T21:18:14.271-04:00

Some say that blood is thicker than water.Some say that water can turn into wine.You think nothing can come in between us.The truth is blood can be sweeter than wine......

Unknownnoreply@blogger.com29tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2002052019325380240.post-37973755026457151082012-05-03T21:53:00.000-04:002012-08-05T12:16:15.728-04:00

Here is how it works: The foreskin retracts, protuberant incisors declinate a subtle ivory, viperine fangs. Pressed to your incandescent curve of skin, I pierce your flesh. You gasp, feel it quicken in you, repulsion and desire. But no, Not yet the sweet inhalation of your frail innocence, not yet the blood rush. First into you my venom I ejaculate: A luciferian delirium sings in your veins,

Unknownnoreply@blogger.com82tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2002052019325380240.post-14315784545983294572012-05-02T14:52:00.000-04:002014-10-16T21:18:14.266-04:00

When I died, I felt your lips close to mine. Sweet death, your faint nocturne of musk refined a serpent song of sleep, of trust, of peace, a bartering of this life for blessed release. You breathed me in, and with that breath preserved what little of my fragile world deserved eternal life. Embalmed in the amber of your heart, a precious spark, an ember flaring bright as my own life in me

Unknownnoreply@blogger.com53tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2002052019325380240.post-90705025641335266122012-04-27T22:46:00.000-04:002012-08-14T21:47:01.781-04:00

That night, in Paris, when the news came that they had bombed the village, you kept waking from sleep. In one dream I heard you call out ‘Maya, Maya,’ your mistress’ daughter. Across from you I lay barren, afraid to breathe. Next morning, the soul that just yesterday wept was quiet, charcoal in hand, as you tried to corral in the vast cold room the last nuance of the night’s dream into a

Unknownnoreply@blogger.com45tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2002052019325380240.post-88409656346087278372012-04-25T21:56:00.000-04:002014-10-16T21:18:14.390-04:00

As she prayed in the waiting room, she felt Vertigo wash over her. Her doctor Entered, beckoned her into his office. Gently, said they’d confirmed the hCG Results she’d gotten two days before, then Asked how she was feeling, what she would do. Throwing up every morning on her mom’s Immaculate bathroom floor, what’d he think? And then, when she was about to tell him -             myrrh and

Unknownnoreply@blogger.com29