This is the place where you face yourself,the you that could be you with a fewdifferent parts, a pump for your heart,eyes off color, and fresh off the shelffake hair (a bit obvious), skin smoothed.You’re not perfect, but it’s a good start.Down to smal…
It started with word, cave, and storytelling,A line scratched on stone walls:“Meet me when the young moon rises.”The first protocol for connection.Coyote tales, forbidden scripts,Medieval texts hidden from flame.What lived in Aristotle’s lost Poetics …
The first time she tried to seduce me,(atoms falling in a vacuum)she asked about blackberries—(every mass exerts some gravity)Did I know their season, where they grow?(galvanometers, gravimeters)I could answer both easily—(tools to measure small attra…
As fairies for the Irish or leeks for Welsh,it’s the secret lives of small hidden machines,their junctures, and networks that inspire me:Mystic hidden functionaries that makeour made world live, brave little servo motors,whose couplers, whose eccentri…
I know now how the sparks can climb,in broadening arcs of ions—the heat they grow inside themselveslike some permission or belief.But at ten, it seemed mystical;their frown, glowing, then invisible.Gone. Save the odor of ozone.I was young and scared a…