Eulogyafter a song by Tool
If I can’t cry for you, how can I cryfor myself? Someday, they’ll find you,lightning burned tongue, wings long pawned,liver eaten by vultures, a ring of ashes...
Time to bathe al fresco
watched by frosty stars and a crescent moon.
I twist quickly for warmth
beneath needle-like strands of hot water
dispensed by an ancient...
Breathing Away the Darkness
At night, lights appear, unseen amongst
daytimes dominating sun.
Scattered bits of moon peering curiously
through window slats.
The warmth of some adjoining room
creeping...
Inner Compass
Golden shovel from David Whyte’s poem “Sweet Darkness”“…anyone or anything that does not bring you alive it too small for you.”
It could rain...
Unlike a writer - who works alone until ‘ready’ for the editor - choreographers most frequently do not choreograph without another body, a human subject. Ideas are being observed and evaluated by your dancers, in front of your own public as it were, even as they are being created.
The divorce.
The final chapter of
our union
tells of bone deep chagrin-
the dumb utter of
'I feel statements'
plays itself like a mantra,
useless invocations found
in the crumpled leaflets
from...