Month: December 2016


The devotional words that were placed in my mouth, that once felt like home, or like grace, turn to smoke and spark, how they shift on my tongue, apparitional thoughts, abstract shapes. The world is a spinning pearl suspended in endless, iridescent space. Winter solstice, dull smudge of moon, has me brought to my knees again.

the veil

before you go spell your thoughts out in tea lights, each to be placed in moroccan lanterns set on the sill of the single pane window, the one that lets out all the heat, with it’s warped glass and flaking white paint on the third floor of your father’s house. pour yourself a cup of the vanilla tea you brought back from the west coast, use a teapot and turn it into something like a ritual, hang glass crystals from high ceilings and cast spectrums on white walls, stay up all night, disappear into travel documentaries, the ones about high mountain plains, the northern lights, mysterious kingdoms, shamans, temples, incense. before i go i need you to know that this was never about me surrendering it was more like setting off on a wintry walk, taken at the edge of some opalescent, foggy dawn, on a frosty december morning. or, if you’d rather, something like a quiet, long considered, and final understanding. the traveler in me, wrapped in wool coats, scarves and gloves, embarking on …

the starlight motel.

i drive straight lines hundreds of miles in an attempt to steer my way through this mojave in my mind. it’s just me, lifeless space, silver dust, and freight trains. what a strange state to be in, my desert days. i find faith in burnt coffee, crossroad cities, hidden springs and the starlight motel. faith, draped in fraying prayer flags under the shadow of some towering saguaro, at the base of thunder mountain. it pours, like desert rain. i bury all doubt under twisting pinyon, and juniper, and tread pine needle shrines with bare feet.