if i sayi loveand it was not predictedby an algorithm,is it really loveor an act of resistance.i don’t want to be mapped,charted, measured. i want to say lostand taste that wordlike salt from another ocean.i want to loose myselfagain and again to thissix note feather songthat falls from the treewith late light that poolsamongst root…
if i say i love and it was not predicted by an algorithm, is it really love or an act of resistance. i don’t want to be mapped, charted, measured. i want to say lost and taste that word like salt from another ocean. i want to loose myself again and again to this six…
once, when the world was new and shadows still danced on the edge of tomorrow and the She who sees us could still be seen, birds learned to make morning from the dark of night – singing the world into form.
the birds swallowed the moon. it sank – fell into the trees from the soft forest sky – corn yellow and full round it fell. the birds swallowed the moon this morning called their victory from the shadows and sang its rushing ocean beauty, bright nights and pulsing trees. the birds swallowed the moon…