Purveyors of fine poetry since 2003.
blue moon you are my last bone
to pick with an otherwise geocentric sky
your flesh is my flesh
old and inappropriate
you spread by spores or pores
or ores or res nullius
your myrmidons the crickets
keep counting down the seconds
i found you broke on the street
yet still somehow capable of rising
once in a… let’s not spoil
this rare blue mood
It’s rained for the better part of a month, and the woods are wild with fungi. We’ve been been eating like kings: maitake, chicken mushrooms and giant puffballs. But some of the inedible mushrooms are eye-catching, too, and so plentiful they can even cover a trail blaze, threatening to replace our way-making with their own. Continue reading “Along autumn trails”