ktwilight

CityZen Noonday tower of stonework calls my name, the echo of traffic the blaze of the sun's fire bounces off the thousand mirrors of the skyscrapers ever skyward babbling voices heard all around in the street, the snippets of meaning give life to the ear. Nightlit out of windows the bright lights tear through the black blanket of night (in the blood                         the sparkle                                of passion) squares like well lit screens are clippings of life. If one could only put these pieces together, would we find meaning in the whole? Twilit alter(nat)ing flickers of headlights wash over

Space the air between courses fierce currents rush/sparks fly the moment is where the spirit dwells the marvel of the moment is it is invisible there is a hint when skin soaked for a moment with breath tastes like saltlike sunlike stings bees stung on the tongue the moment is not you I it is in that space

The Tree Gave Me a Map to Me Walking on the edge to the beat of the drum to the tap of my feet, to the rip rap rush of the fallen rock talk, I see the sun grace the moon with a new lit light. There's a sharp streak yellow and a warm orange tinge and the sea shines bright sparkled spears to my eyes. The sky brightens up to the dawn of the day and the supple slipped branch that hangs over and sways sings: "this ain't no time to kneel down and beg, so stand up and sing" So I lean off the edge just as far as I can see the truth tip tap on the back of my hand in the depths of the blue of the ocean's sweet song I hear the slip slop snarl of the

Threads and Bars The voice sings of sparks in the blood. It sings that they're cultured. The grape vines lick up fences through ages and ages of changes at the hands of the hard bred workers and are stomped into juice.  Dogs and horses walk hand in hand along the Strand, the sun baked clay hiding years and years of layers of wounds and hatred. The sweaters they wear were knitted by old flames, their woven strands like lyrics that sing of the old days when the school was further away and the snow was harder to clear. The voice lifts up on high. It sings of clouds and codes and comfort. The spiders spin and twirl across the floor, their sp