Pix & Texts, Poetry, Commentary, Politics, etc.
Alive or dead the royal ones remain sumptuous
One can tell by the way they sleep at night
No doubt in couples, the way the curled folds lead one to imagine:
The question is, why do they beckon one
With their sensuality, particularly, such pure white
Pleated tenderness? What do they give us?
A pure love for the edge, that grace note between earth
Whatever is beyond. The beloved guile
An agileness in the eyes of angels.
Abandoned homeless blanket, Dolores Park, San Francisco
Raised by ghosts, or was she?
Within a family tree
Who speaks blood?
Casualties, losses - tragic, natural
Ones gone too young:
Problematic accidents
One murder, a war
A love misplaced
A fragile misconception:
Blue moons
Red losses
Who speaks?
Who knows?
Tree shadow, red wall on Church Streeet between 22nd and 23rd Street, San Francisco
Sometimes they (the spirits) up
Leave in the dark of night:
Know them only by their clothes
Do not know how many, if any
Hearts, families, broken:
In the sharp, morning light, parted - shirt
pants, fragments, so casually, rumpled.
Clothes on grass, Dolores Park, San Francisco