The question is how you rearrange the stars above your head, to open up unexpected paths on the ground beneath your feet. — Brian Holmes, “Guattari’s Schizoanalytic Cartographies” or “The Pathic Core at the Heart of Cybernetics,” Continental Drift. Advertisements
Then the bees come, more than you’d ever expect, whirring from sprig to sprig with such meticulous and random urgency you might think they understand each blossom begins to die upon its opening which has been hurried along by your own desire. — Allen Braden, from “Lilacs and Desires,” Louisiana Literature (vol. 34, no. 1,… Continue reading Allen Braden
These dogwood branches on the windowsill—they’re my touch, stemming freshly. In my spell I am suspended, seamed into soft-drawn letters I’ve just learned. Is this the floating feeling when you’ve come into love? — Alice Wright, from “Photograph: Alice Allgood Cooper on Her Wedding Trip,” ecotone (Spring/Summer 2017)
Just ahead of dawn, the wall was like a silken drape near a silver light: keeping nothing out, keeping nothing in. — Cindy St. Onge, from “Resurrection (An Aubade),” Dappled Things (10.3, SS. Peter and Paul, 2015.)
My Aphrodisiac Now that you are gone, I want to tell you, you are wrong. About everything. Consider perspective as a case in point. You loved to inform me that far-away things appear smaller. I am here to tell you that distant things grow bigger. Missing objects are the largest of all. Their shadows can… Continue reading Nin Andrews
In the beginning was the fragment, and the fragment cast a shadow, and the shadow became the word. — Carlos V. Reye, from “Histories,” in “Fragments on Fragments 1,” FragLit (no. 1, Fall 2007)
All I have never been troubles the night. — Phyllis Hoge Thompson, “Do Not Tell Me That in Another Life You Will Leave Notes for Me Everywhere So That Next Time We Can Find Each Other,” The Hudson Review. Spring 2007.