by Matt Toka
Fragments of phrases. Frivolous fribble. Wily little expressions of something or nothing... sometimes something else. Intertwining fixations: artistic, aquatic, and acoustic aesthetics.
by Matt Toka
Dean Cornwell (1892- 1960)
For @thirtymilesout, a view from 8800 miles, around and down. URL: http://www.TeAra.govt.nz/en/photograph/19288/kaimanawa-wild-horses
Did a spin class
Ran on the treadmill
Sanded window frames
Ate more chicken
Hung laundry on the line
Contemplated wine x3
Talked on the phone
Prepared for a party where I will
Cave in to the wine and
Not eat chicken
by Renae Taylor
This reporter knows me well.
I’m glum about your sportive flesh in the empire of blab,
and the latest guy running his trendy tongue like a tantalizing surge
over your molars, how droll. Love by a graveyard is redundant,
but the skin is an obstacle course like Miami where we are
inescapably consigned: tourists keeping the views new.
What as yet we desire, our own fonts of adoration. By morning,
we’re laid out like liquid timepieces, each other’s exercise in perpetual
enchantment, for there is that beach in us that is untranslatable; footprints
abound. I understand: you’re at a clothes rack at Saks
lifting a white linen blouse at tear’s edge wondering.
Having made quick time from China, freighters hover on Pacific fringe, waiting for a solitary dock master to wake on Monday morning.