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like spring like water

In 100, by Nora on February 14, 2021 at 1:39 pm

like spring the glisten thawing, building, slowly gathering speed, cresting, not an instant flash-change

like water flowing down from snowed peaks, solid to liquid, fluid, filling spaces

like water gathering its bits into a wave imperceptibly

not like spring: my cold heart thaws. not like water: drawing breathing after being underwater

sun-limning life, not fundamentally changing or fixing it, its form sublimating, sublime

what is there like this? can this be metaphor-stretched from nature?

and ice is not the enemy: delicate brittle-hard lace tracing firm around air, the eye’s impression of diamond but the feel tender melting to the fingertip-touch

strange being the only one who stays on the road pt 4

In 100, by Nora on February 3, 2021 at 9:26 am

flash floods scatter the cars but i push through, finally some spanish radio, kissing ciudad juarez through el paso. the skies yawning, opening up endless, unblemished above honest workaday trucks and rolling scrubland. injury lawyer ads give way to corrugated steel and fences, tiny metal windmill, far off bluish mesa lines in arid-fuzzy air; alone but for a gentle highway patrol officer. then the largest never-worked-a-day-in-their-lives trucks, bulbous tanks, aggressively stickered, parking backwards. finally crossing into california, i’m back to the familiar self-congratulatory teslas, aggressive audis, and old mitsubishi trucks bursting with gardening gear, my roads. this is my stop.

diebenkorn pt one million

In 100, by Nora on January 21, 2021 at 1:08 pm

facing west on Washington, at the top of Nob Hill, the street falls away in front of me as I ease my way down the pavement, leaning back against the gravity, knees bent. I can see down into the flat valley of mildly-insipid shopfronts on Polk and the unfriendly, muscular, constantly-under-construction Van Ness. And then the snap-break in common-sensical reality: the street rears up again, straight into the air in front of me, the horizon higher than the peeling eaves of the apartments I’m passing. the absurdity of a folded-up landscape on a rigid, man-made grid: how is man rational?