now the speed of light is something else altogether says a voice in one universe to an ear in another as the sound shines on the face in the space in between “Now the Speed of Light” Recently Banned Literature, October 3, 2016 . Light as Light as Light little lights, glowing in the dark, yours in your dark, mine in mine, make our dark, make our light, dark in […]
The celebration of rain is past. The wind has changed. A great part of the moisture has been reclaimed by the sky gods. The air is smoky again. But it is not as smoky as before, at least here at ground level. Instead, there is a high haze thick enough to keep the sunny fall days several degrees cooler than they would be. One can feel the smoke. The robins […]
Can you imagine being condemned to immortality while all around you falls blissfully away? So say the maple, the cedar, the berry. . [ 886 ]
With the rain, the mushrooms — bright-white at first, they soon become flared skirts and fans in an elfin dance; cursed, or worse — or blessed — quiet, composed — kissed — for some the world ends like this; others are smashed by tanks and NATO equipment. September 28, 2020 Crossroads#2 Pencil on Index CardJuly 2, 2010 . [ 884 ]
When a bee dies for the last fall flower, a poet makes his flight home. (and the other way around) . [ 881 ]
A little boy and a sparrow grave . . . the day he put his gun away . . . . [ 880 ]
The coming of autumn: the first yellow birch leaves, And a park bench that looks like an old upright piano, Which she plays quite naked, save for the wind in her hair And a bright necklace of newly sprouted mushrooms. She laughs: I’m only a painting! Yes. But I can’t help myself. I see it all here. Is there something special you’d like me to play? Anything. Anything. And then […]
The Dream of a Ridiculous Man — I wonder how many years have passed since I read this story aloud to my wife in the kitchen of the house we were renting at the time. Twenty? Twenty-five? The reading ended in tears — mine. And even then, it was not the first time I had read the story. Had Dostoevsky written nothing else, his mission on earth would have been […]
The end of the world is a strange and beautiful place. It keeps growing, and it keeps ending. And as it ends, it gives birth to countless new beginnings. Eyes open, eyes close, eyes open again. Galaxies and atoms. Oceans and tufts of grass. A little boy’s pockets turned inside out for the wash. What he remembers. What he loses. What he collects. Where have you been? his kind mother […]
September mad and breathing fire — while mountains burn, we valley firs cast off our words and add them to the sacrifice. Your gift is not despised. It sparks the angels’ eyes in paradise. . [ 864 ]
William Michaelian 
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