QUIET LIGHTNING: a massive, slow-moving silent cloud
They were allowed to play that afternoon. It was only two blocks away, their own personal Garden of Eden. Pouring their lives into illustrations and illusions, in the middle of this struggle to find meaning and common ground, when the wind has dresses, when the meaning of fire is lost, find us like keepsakes on the earth, in our prime, a little wild, write Labor, write Day, write laughter, the game itself was beautiful, there really are some parts of life that move in a straight line (as impossible as it seems).
So you want to know about this, do you? Perfect but strange, creating spondees from madmen (this is the sound). The narrative preferable? My thoughts preferable? A storm on the sun is a fly on the wall. Listen to the sound of the stars. A pelican flew gracefully over the water, then shit into it. Every man, woman and child, when they stand, sit or lie down, do so directly above the center of the earth. Massive, slow-moving silent cloud starting from the minds of the Quiet Lightning readers on Labor Day, Sept 5 11 at the San Francisco Conservatory of Flowers.
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To the Dead: Untitled
The old oak was slowly disappearing into the perning mist.
The weather was perfect-
A mouth fumbling at coattails.
For a brief moment, his warmth spreads across your whole face. Then is gone.
The wind has dresses.
The meaning of fire is lost.
The trees burn in Winter.
Separated from speech with a fence (that no one understands.)
The way we live in our bodies
The difficulty of feelings.
How do you ever know one way or the other when it comes to human beings?
A jewelry box overflowing with jeweled broaches.
A risty tin can filled with cigarette butts.
The way man almost always equals madness, but never more.
The memory of a neck.
The light shone through the branches.
A pelican flew gracefully over the water, then shit into it.
Every man, woman, and child, when they stand, sit, or lie down, do so directly over the center of the earth.
no wonder Eden is a garden.