North Side Of The Moon

Kitchen Music

Mark — Tue, 02 Aug 2011 00:00:36 +0000

The kettle sings “Sergeant Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band.” Vapor sprites dance above.

Up With the Sun

Mark — Sun, 31 Jul 2011 12:39:01 +0000

The firemen’s crane rises beyond the treeline,
a stairway to the custard sky

Outdoor Café

Mark — Sat, 30 Jul 2011 15:48:00 +0000

A pigeon takes one dainty step onto a slatted table of golden wood. Bits of granola and French bread make an ordinary breakfast, but on a nearby table, that pastry box is the color of cinnamon, and it must be full of something wondrous.

A brief glide, landing on a nearby chair, gazing at the woman sitting there. Jerking its head to the side, asking “You gonna eat that?”

Two Flags

Mark — Fri, 29 Jul 2011 12:06:01 +0000

Two flags, clasped to the top of the speeding truck
Blistered by the wind
State, nation, stripes, stars
All a uniform blur

Crossing the Field

Mark — Tue, 26 Jul 2011 13:05:00 +0000

A man, dressed in white and black, walks into the open field, and disappears behind a hedge row. Watched by four crows on a rooftop, and by me, he is not anonymous.

Six Benches

Mark — Sun, 24 Jul 2011 14:31:00 +0000

Six cast iron benches sit against the church’s eastern wall, turned gray from years of mornings. The iron scrollwork in their backs makes a pattern of hearts, all empty.

Wordless Answers

Mark — Sat, 23 Jul 2011 13:24:00 +0000

My heart asks a silent question that I don’t hear. Rickie Lee Jones begins singing on the radio as the smoky breath of cafe americano fills my mouth. A young bird follows an arc of morning sunlight from a low branch to the supernaturally green grass below.

Walking To My Car

Mark — Wed, 20 Jul 2011 16:30:31 +0000

The cut grass smell makes me think of baseball and early morning walks in slanted sunlight, across town to the practice field where I will sit in the dugout for two hours, listening to debates about which boy knew Larry Paul first and who can call him by his baseball name, which is his real [...]

Evening Meal

Mark — Tue, 19 Jul 2011 02:09:36 +0000

Eight green grapes on a plate perched atop four carrot sticks, a forest drawn by a child. But close your eyes, imagine yourself in a haunted house, they become four sets of eyeballs, four detached fingers.

Observations take strange forms on a smoldering summer evening.

Justice

Mark — Sun, 17 Jul 2011 14:19:03 +0000

Okra thrives in a community garden, five-fingered hands wrapped around the throats of weaker rivals.

Tomato and corn wither under the impartial glare of the sun.

There is no reason to the justice of nature.