I write because my time is limited and my imagination is not.
So much joy is lost Punishing the present for Versions of the past
By D. J. Reddall6 months ago in Poets
I do not understand the salty speech Of the roiling, storm punctuated sea The crowd of gossamer clouds I beseech To solve the riddle of the sky for me
It is easy to resent the critic Who tastes and judges but seldom prepares Attached to a specific aesthetic Pointing out that what you love needs repairs
By D. J. Reddall7 months ago in Poets
All of us are strange We ought to seek that strangeness That best suits our own
What, no small talk? So impatient. You're all in such a hurry. Do you know where you are in a hurry to get? I mean, not just the proximal goal, but the distal, ultimate goal. Would you be in such a hurry, if you kept that in mind?
By D. J. Reddall7 months ago in Fiction
Summer has thawed your quaint anxieties Puritanical shyness melts quickly Ancient are some carnal realities Touched by water and light, who is sickly?
When did the worst case Scenario become what We watch over lunch?
All of our stories Will gradually dissolve How will they change taste?
Leaving glows with magnetic temptation The immaterial must pay no rent Unknown to them is mean competition They earn nothing, for they are truly spent
It is dangerous to speak your names The Overton window slams to silence them Crisis, solidarity, insanity Adorning an ancient necropolis
The inky window watches our passion Move repressed Edwardians to clutch pearls This sleepy, arching domestic fusion The pale toes of anxious puritans curls
You don’t understand: anyone can fly My story is clear, but few read it well It’s true: I did burn, plummet and die
