funeral coffee

the kitchen is ever dark, and cold, and cave-like, and sombre. starting the fire, on gas or in the cooking range. the quiet determinism of those present in the house for the morning. the smell of sadness, the unspoken collectiveness of all people waiting. the setting-up of the pots, the pouring of water, the measuring […]

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exp +360

and again. for the past nights, i have been dreaming of losing her again. or not losing. it all is so confusing. my rational mind tells me- all that could have been lost, has been [lost], and there is nothing, nothing at all to be done about it. my body memory, morphic memory, tells me that something […]

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and now he has moved on. a tribute to a poet, a national consciousness, a man who had barbs and a heart to love

he formed the definition of what poet is, in my world. and how to see the world. Imants Ziedonis. The Master of Clarity. Passed on to the next world on this day. i am happy he did. and i hurt, as a poet and as a latvian. let his journey be light. you will have […]

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when a wake is impossible because the people are too different and just would not talk

it is midnight, and the tree roots have grown over the faces of the ancient statues of power and strength, and faithfulness.   at the table, cards folded in hands the two sat, unblinking, unmoving, speechless amidst little half-empty glasses of shots.   the light flickered, unresolved gleaming on the horizons where what was met […]

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pilnmēness/ pustrijos naktī// joprojām nav iespējams gulēt

skumju putns izplešas vējā un tumšmelnām spalvām ieķeŗas mākoņu malās. viņš plīvo starp zemi un debesīm, starp to, kas varēja būt, un to, kas nenotika. viņa kājas iejūk vīnogu zaros aiz loga, un viņa sirds sitas stiklos, klusumā, pārtraukta. sarāvies kamolā, skumju putns tup uz palodzes, un ir krietni pāri pusnaktij; viņa acis aizsedz mēnesi, […]

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