Tag Archives: Phillip Gregory Spotswood

anti-atheist

It’s not that I don’t believe in a god, it’s just that I don’t think there is a word, a vibration, capable of signifying. Imagine, human, that you have been drifting like me all these years outside the orbit of … Continue reading

Posted in Poetry | Tagged | 1 Comment

red light, stasis

she leaned out the window—but it’s my birthday—and I could see mascara running down her face in streams blacker than the river Styx. rolled windows to separate worlds. hers from mine; misery from joy; the air between us tittering with … Continue reading

Posted in Poetry | Tagged | 1 Comment

occam’s razor

I saw you from across the graveyard. On the other side of the street, I mean— a parallel distance. Between the gray and crumbling mounds I see flashes of red (your running shorts) and the white, vertical lines of your … Continue reading

Posted in Poetry | Tagged | 1 Comment

bloom

Even in no-space where I cannot kick off from any one point, or axis, even in no-space my thoughts arc and I can trace their lashings out in bright lines, vague bursts of motion similar to staring at the sun … Continue reading

Posted in Poetry | Tagged | 1 Comment

bay roots (water-trees)

My grandfather told me that wood was meant to stand, planted not in but over water, in order to pull it up by and through its roots. I said it is an issue of dominance, or a power struggle, complicated … Continue reading

Posted in Poetry | Tagged | 1 Comment