by Warren Gaston | Jul 15, 2023
I am not discontinuous with the mountain, with the forest, with the sea. They are not out there. I am not in here. I have been taught a divisive language as if my eyes were windows look out – [there] look at – [that] look in – [here] I make a...
by Warren Gaston | Jul 12, 2023
To be sheltered among echoes and mirrors, that’s what the candidate wanted, no hard shiny surface silent, reflected image, resounded voice. In the crowd, the politics of duplication, every thought identical, the governance of mimocracy. Does the candidate imitate the...
by Warren Gaston | Jul 11, 2023
Sometimes an eyelash can irritate an eye even more than watching an atrocity.
by Warren Gaston | Jul 5, 2023
No two things are different in the same way. How far up must you look to begin seeing sky? On an airplane, just look out the window. Astronauts look down to see sky. How is it that a sandwich eaten in Rome tastes better than the same sandwich eaten at home. Carl Jung...
by Warren Gaston | Jun 27, 2023
Little bothers, or progressing, the tremble, the quiver, the quake. The body’s sentinel wanders. Wonders. Was it something? Or not. Not, I am thinking. Or is it hope I am doing, self-diagnosis based on desire, a medicinal...
by Warren Gaston | Jun 26, 2023
The kitten is a quiver, muscles flex tense fur softens form, bone structure, cat architecture, ancient lineage, unmistakable shape, unrelenting instincts: lion, tiger, leopard, lynx. My legs are stabs and scratches. The cause. Claws. The kitten climbs me seeking...
by Warren Gaston | Jun 12, 2023
From the far distant east the sun races morning toward darkness. . But I am not ready for morning. Let there be night.
by Warren Gaston | Jun 10, 2023
I The wind longs to see itself dance across the earth, caressing breezes, pummeling storms. With my body as its mirror, the wind winces seeing itself reflected in my dance.. II. I am a cloud and music is the wind. dancing, I give shape to sound, as a cloud makes the...
by Warren Gaston | Jun 3, 2023
A bird sitting on the bird bath suddenly flies fifty feet away to a tree branch. I want to know, in what form of thought did the bird make up his mind to fly? What form of thought guided his flight until he got to where he wanted to go?
by Warren Gaston | Jun 2, 2023
The night wants to know, what are you going to do with its gift of darkness?
