( via / me )

Tanka.

“EASTERSMOKE, flooding, with
the letterlike
keeltrack amidst.
(Never was heaven.
But sea still is, fire red,
sea.)

We here, we,
glad for the passage, before the tent,
where you baked desertbread
from wandered-along language.

At the furthest sight-edge: the dance
of two blades across the
heartshadowcord.

The net underneath, knotted
from thought-
ends–at what
depth?

There: the bitten through
eternity-penny, spat
up to us through the meshes.

Three sandvoices, three
scorpions:
the guest-people, with us
in the skiff.”

–Joris’s Celan (RIP PJ 1946-2025)

"Spring/ Evening has come to the ancient garden."

“The real war is in the air, civilian. We’re just skirmishing on the macrolevel.”

–Gregory Feeley, The Oxygen Barons (1996)

"What would you put on in order to hurry to a banquet?"