75 lines
2.7 KiB
HTML
75 lines
2.7 KiB
HTML
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<!doctype html>
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<html>
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<head>
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<title>Zk | Miscellany</title>
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<link rel="stylesheet" type="text/css" href="/style.css" />
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<meta name="viewport" content="width=device-width" />
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<meta charset="utf-8" />
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</head>
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<body>
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<main>
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<header>
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<h1>Zk | Miscellany</h1>
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</header>
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<article class="content">
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<p><q class="comment">In <em>Civilized Beasts 2016 Edition</em></q><q class="comment">In <em>Eigengrau</em></q></p>
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<div class="verse">The dogs assure me:
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There are volumes of meaning —
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Life and death —
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And time;
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Past, present, future —
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In the scent of a rotting fish left after the flood,
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Or a trace of scat,
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Or the coyote, long passed,
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But not everyone reads poetry.
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I’m not so lucky, all told:
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The rich scent of meaning —
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Heady, intoxicating —
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Rises only from words
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And the way you rest your hands on the table.</div>
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<hr />
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<p><q class="comment">In <em>Eigengrau</em></q></p>
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<div class="verse">The eighteenth whisker on the left is brown.
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I know this after countless nights awake
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beside you, watching every quiet breath.
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You puff your whiskers out on every yawn.
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On longer work-filled days, your whiskers wilt,
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exhaustion softening your features, sleep
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exerting subtle gravities to lead
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you to oneiric seas and dreamlike sands.
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I know this after countless nights awake.
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I know, I know, it's strange to watch you sleep,
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but when I can't, to know that someone can...
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at least it somehow lets me rest in turn.
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When I lay beside your sleeping form
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I know there's rest to still be had for me.</div>
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<hr />
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<h2 id="liminality">Liminality</h2>
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<p><q class="comment">In <em>Eigengrau</em></q></p>
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<div class="verse">A year starts not on January first.
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The days may hunder but the seasons speak
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of time's long march, of fast time, slow time. Thirst
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for "start" and "end" neglects the limen sleek.
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So, why do some unsubtle sciences
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forget about the in-betweens? Those pure
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uncolored dreams made mere contrivances;
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"between the years" now simply: "year, then year".
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These rough mechanics, held unseen, can spoil
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the beauty of our silent spaces, take
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from us the liminality, embroil
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our lives in cold and tired minutiae.
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Come sit with me, come stay with me inside
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this place between where strange new loves abide</div>
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<p>"So, what does it mean?"</p>
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<p>She shrugged and sipped her tea. They sat together in silence for a while.</p>
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<p>"There's something about the liminal that terrifies me."</p>
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<p style="text-align: right">"Me too," she said...</p>
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</article>
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<footer>
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<p>Page generated on 2020-04-24</p>
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</footer>
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</main>
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</body>
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</html>
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