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space I spent years in booze’s blackest forest, blundering every night from road to bar to road to bed like some hunter-gatherer of the Abyssal Age, so deep and lost inside the wild of uncorked spirits that blackout was the only … Continue reading U... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com

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space You sing about loss: I am lament. Comb your blues with my black throat, in meters that have no feet to wind the moody shade. Your songs are suitors: you lured Persephone from her loom, Cerberus bawled for his … Continue reading →... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com

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space   Slowing down is not enough. The last outrageous well was drilled a hundred years ago. Benevolence went extinct with zoos. Even your laboring breath is more than we can bear. Yet here you still persist, pouring dreadful concrete … Continue reading ... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com

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space She came to me out of some emerald of wave urban night, dripping black girders and neon rain streets, a vision icily candescent, the most beautiful X chromosome to date. A blonde Higgs boson whose charm danced both too … Continue reading U... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com

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space Hear me and you’re witched; sort and I’ll derange; scatter and I’m found. But name me and I’m gone, into wilds you’ll never recognize as such. Nothing’s changed down all these years, though my folk have dried to vellum: … Continue reading →... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com

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  I heard about the first Earth Day in eighth grade science class, some signage on the wall all Day-Glo and font-fatty about Love The Earth or Give The World a Chance, something green and lovey like that, though it’s … Continue reading →... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com

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  Here’s a skull now; This skull hath lien you i’ th’ earth three-and-twenty years. —Clown gravedigger in Hamlet, Act V, scene 1 He is a ghost, a shadow now, the wind by Elsinore’s rocks or what you will, the … Continue reading →... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com

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space Alone he roamed the Hyperborean North And wandered along the snowy banks of the Don Or through the barren frozen fields on the sides Of Piphean mountains, in grief for his lost wife And Hades’ empty promise. — Virgil, … Continue reading U... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com

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  Tonight, thank Heaven, Your hand is close,even heavy on my brow. Has it been that long?Like a mineshaft is History, deep and cold; all our past lives labor somewhere in it, hearingthrough the wall the voices of distant singersfrom … Continue reading ... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com

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space He’s a bit of every one of us who failed to come back from the Great War. Observe how he was assembled from the charnel loam of Passchandaele: torso of the Brit picked off barbed wire, hand of Boche … Continue reading →... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com

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space The apartment in my dream is an old one, the sort of place where despair wrecks eternal. A cold, used-up address, harrowed by too many bad nights and rude coming-to’s. The walls yellow with age and rafters so rotted … Continue reading →... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com

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space She came up from the sea of night to teach me her wet druidry. “Here is Womb,” she rasped through a larynx of gale, pointing to the sea inside her scales. “The water of birth and firstness, blue glitters … Continue reading →... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com

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space They float across the pond in boats of folded poems. Occasionally one dips the clef of her neck beneath the ripples, chasing depth and gripping down. When her head returns it shakes her entire body free of water as … Continue reading →... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com

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space   Slowing down is not enough. The last outrageous well was drilled a hundred years ago. Benevolence went extinct with zoos. Even your laboring breath is more than we can bear. Yet here you still persist, pouring dreadful concrete … Continue reading ... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com

nature otherworlds poetry paleolithics oran forest shenanagans water-folk octoberals madness and mania puddlefootin' noir big night music celtic myth natural supernatural the dark feral animals of the soul earish sounds like
space Hear me and you’re witched; sort and I’ll derange; scatter and I’m found. But name me and I’m gone, into wilds you’ll never recognize as such. Nothing’s changed down all these years, though my folk have dried to vellum: … Continue reading →... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com

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space Blue is not an image to indicate the sense of the holy. Blueness itself is the holy, in virtue of its gathering depth which shines forth only as it veils itself. — Martin Heidegger   On mornings like this … Continue reading →... mehr auf blueoran.wordpress.com