Door Hearts

Little listens
At the heart of the door
Misspeaking at the cusp of dawn
The voice drags across lonely floor boards
Dripped with paint of old beginnings
Little does it know of past feet
Passersby by which the old house fell
Only listens
Broken embers bringing hope
While the hall behind lies empty
A front step that should not have been repaired.

 

-A. Ault-

Virginia

If I could reach back into the ages
and touch you
and place into you some amount
of the peace I have mustered
that I was armed to fight for
in a way unavailable to you then
If I could match your pulse
to mine
and through the cracks of that building wall,
bring you out of the sickness
we both know too well
–But time does not move in reverse
and I can only ask you
to stand guard with me
against this river of my own
and watch from your past vantage
that I, too, do not sink
in my swimming.

3-28-17
A.Ault

Antoine de Aviator

That soul of wandering, and regretting
That could not sustain space
With what he loved
So flew over deserts to learn the how
And wrote a boy whose mind was his own
Teaching his adult heart to live
No sadder soul have I ever felt more akin
Lost within the short time that he breathed
Passionate for what he knew was necessary
Even if he perished
(He would end this way)
Accepting
Back to the capsule in which his mind dwelled so long
Coaxed through the heavens
To a little planet in the sky.

 

-A. Ault-

Review: Rosehead by Ksenia Anske

RoseheadRosehead by Ksenia Anske

My rating: 4 of 5 stars

My early-teenage self would have loved this book! The imaginative story Ksenia tells is full of imagination and quirky realness. I loved Lilith’s character, and the banter between her and Panther. While sometimes the writing seemed a bit scattered, the plot kept me interested and waiting for more. Great lines and a bit of unexpected darkness make “Rosehead” a compelling and very fun read.

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Bottega

We spent years in the bottega
Only to paint sidewalks with chalk
The sides of trains, in the lifetimes that followed

I took you to the street
And we danced in colors
Threw back our heads at broken rules
Left marks only memories might remember

What did our masters know
But how to forget a craft
Teaching more from the secrets not hidden

We became flickers of attention
At once known, and completely forgotten
Unable to escape the creation
Etched deep in our souls.

We are each twist of this unending wheel
Our strokes becoming the magnus opus
Of Saṃsāra.

Review: Sex Sleep Eat Drink Dream: A Day in the Life of Your Body by Jennifer Ackerman

Sex Sleep Eat Drink Dream: A Day in the Life of Your BodySex Sleep Eat Drink Dream: A Day in the Life of Your Body by Jennifer Ackerman

My rating: 4 of 5 stars

Understanding the mechanics of one’s body is so necessary, I almost believe that everyone should read this book. Ackerman presents sound science in a way that is accessible to everyone, making findings of science through the years interesting as she takes us through a day in the life of our own bodies.

At times repetitively formulaic, the stories and personal anecdotes Ackerman uses to piece together the narrative throughout the book were charming if occasionally tiresome. That said, I very much enjoyed her writing, and would be interested in reading other books or articles in the same voice.

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Movement in the Deep

Is it an underwater explosion?
A tsunami, slow to build after days, or weeks, of small movements
cracks behind the exterior of normalcy
the facade of “keeping it together”
of knowing it will be “okay”
and feeling the the mantle itself crumble
shifting so deep within
the echos take hours to be heard
under caverns locked up so tightly
buried so quickly with a god-hand
brushed over with whatever Time had available
Cities, maybe. Trees, brush, hopes and promises
Tremors give warning
bubbling quietly to the surface
A gulping or fainting
But not strong enough to concern the onlookers
When it starts, is it already too late?
Would erupting do any more harm?
But the tsunami builds higher and stronger
pushing past the deep layers
rising higher to the surface
demolishing gates barred between and along the way
until it is here
it is too late
and all is washed away
There is no hour, no time, no reference point among so much water
Perspective is gone
and whatever isn’t quite swept away
after the wave that now was
holds together loosely
floating on the surface of a mind
I no longer know.