Author Archives: dfconnelly22

Stones Overturned

Turning over stones. Walking, turning over stones, a lucky find, some labyrinth of ants, sodden hollows, a world. Beneath feet, under the mallow and umbrella plants, beneath the thorny bulwark bramble, blackberries, thistle, sumac. Below the canopy, below the breath … Continue reading

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Cleaves to an Edge

In the woods there are old things with rust on them. Some of them I recognize: a bolt, a bucket, a bent tricycle ingrown in a tree. Some are just curled shards shouting tetanus, or spiky whittled wire racks, the … Continue reading

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Wait

Swallow and wait. Howl. Bend time if you can but know that waiting is better. Bend time into a loop that hangs from your fingers like maple syrup. But waiting is better. Waiting is time travel in slow motion; howl … Continue reading

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Breathing

There is a time I know will come where I will tear it all to oblivion and I will cut the back out and lay strips of it to smoke over the fire. It will be nothing and I will … Continue reading

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Time

He was wondering, just now, whether other people, supposedly whole people, spent as much time thinking about themselves, as in like an evaluative manner. The whole process was like a cosmically immense gyred pathway; although, he supposed, it ended here, … Continue reading

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Mud

If it is a part, it is a piece, and it is a maybe long-rambling but yet essential component.  And dry but florid, shallow but reaching, a part of the composite of being.  This dryness:  I am alone.  Extended: I … Continue reading

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Swell

It isn’t so much that I’ve nothing to say.  It’s muted.  I give it no sounding.  There is this terrible arrhythmia to the human pulse that I have my finger pressed upon, and my teeth clench, throbbing through my jaw, … Continue reading

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