~baffledkingcomposing
John Sisk
Newest
sketch for first rainthe west wind came and the rainsketch for first rain
flooding our asphalt the oil from our faces casting petroleum rainbows on our hands
seabulls raged at the matador sun
down the la river
and now the cool the clear the crispapple day and staring clouds white as the whites of the whites of our eyes
the air is pearjuice dripping off our chins
clean
leaving us our naked pediments and veined interstices
towering rugged against a crystal sky
by ~baffledkingcomposing
press muteto be verseless in the morning in a sacramento sunrise is to be voiceless in a choir. the great conductor rises and taps his baton on the sierra nevada: and the steam sings, and the plain sings, and the sky sings, and i am silent: without a tune. the curve of hills and endless mist are the mute in my mouth.press mute
that fox there has my voice instead: ask him.
by ~baffledkingcomposing
near bakersfieldtangled vines dry for winter red as a redheaded dog. a russet finery for the stubbled earth. moon fat as a silver dollar sitting stubborn in sunset fog. angled bones of groceries stretch nude against the stones: all musk and ebony. against seafoam rows of spinach, chard, parsley, grazing sheep, slow turns and marker palms, the evening's muezzins. quiet: - let the world's adobe sound itself under the sediment rain, chemical rainbows, the cattle-tnear bakersfield
by ~baffledkingcomposing
san joaquimthe trees are a greengold mist on the ground; the hills are as smooth and sure as the skins of birches. they curve in autumn shapes against a windwhite sky. this far north there are seasons to match the interior year: silkhair wheat and surfeits of snow. the hills' edges rise flaxen: burnished things in the setting sun. occasional gargoyles peek confused from the world's bones, and i'm unsure which sky is real: the sky of seasmooth plain beside me or its blushing wheatsoft hair, the heavens, pale pastel with clouds and linsan joaquim
by ~baffledkingcomposing
Favourites
cinder and smokeHe makes her want to shed her life, leave it behind in a heap on the ground like rose clippings. He calls, and she answers, wary and helpless as a wild deer. Autumn thrums through the trees; yellow leavescinder and smoke
are falling into her footsteps.
Hands linked, the whispering of fingers and the
fireworking of the trees in the wind are the restless symphony of change. Panting, they arrive—the hill beckons, and from its top the land spreads in every direction. Later, with the clear eyes of time, she will remember another hill:
All this could be yours if you would
by ~last-train-home
11-29
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- Current Residence: Los Angeles, CA
- Interests: Music, words, movements, and images
- Favourite movie: Amelie *or* A Man for All Seasons
- Favourite band or musician: Bach, Shostakovich, Bob Dylan, and Death Cab.
- Favourite genre of music: 900CE-Present
- Favourite artist: Kandinsky
- Favourite poet or writer: Rilke, Rumi, Frost, Shakespeare
- Operating System: Mac, finally
- MP3 player of choice: iPod nano
- Skin of choice: Yours, if you're her.
- Favourite game: Life
- Personal Quote: "Be Yourself: Imitation is Suicide."
- Website: http://www.myspace.com/dsch
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"hallelujah."
--
there's only us, there's only this
forget regret, or life is yours to miss
no other road, no other way
no day but today.
hallelujah indeed.
--
"Simplicity don't need to be greased." - Billie Joe Shaver
--
*achoo*
--
"There is no way a beautiful woman can live up to what she looks like for any appreciable length of time."
- Kurt Vonnegut, Timequake.
&& I'm going to watch you.
--
the wind turns loose all the boats
that last night were moored to the sky
Neruda
--
the wind turns loose all the boats
that last night were moored to the sky
Neruda
--
the wind turns loose all the boats
that last night were moored to the sky
Neruda
Pacem.
--
"Simplicity don't need to be greased." - Billie Joe Shaver
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