A SPIDER IN MY LEFT HAND
Quill
the language of retreat stubborn swept-back quills longing for fingers
The world is full of reaching,
and I am tucked into the hollow.
I fold myself into the hush of
my head to tail ( to head to tail.)
What is it? It’s a zine, I think. For the neurally landlocked who crave the sea, the salt, and the windburn, "A Spider In My Left Hand" is a surreal archive of images and weird poetry (is it poetry?), fragments of a world both just beyond and just in reach. I had intended to start blogging or vlogging or podcasting, but instead, this.
visit the zine.
Duck, Duck, Molt
i step out of yesterday, a costume shed, not lost,but loved and left behind on purpose.
a tender ghost of who i was,
i molt joyfully
not to disappear
but to shimmer
into the next version
sun-warmed wood, and the memory of a porch
The Hum of the moment
In the hum of the moment I am background.
There is a frenetic energy that you can feel and almost touch.
I wait on the screen, clinging to it's stiff fingers, waiting for the wearing hole.
The light from your kitchen as you dance in your socks.
You'll find me in the 60-cycle hum.