Move WIP to text/

8 files changed, 0 insertions, 132 deletions

@@ -1,13 +0,0 @@
-Abraham, Abraham, you are old and cannot hear
-my small voice under the creaking of your grief.
-Your eyes are dim and connot see the ram
-as it creates itself from the bush, fashioning
-its horns from brambles, its wool from leaves,
-its hooves from the rock of the mountain.
-
-Your hand is shaky, but it is sure to its goal.
-The knife is blunt but not blunt enough.
-
-I am here to stay your hand, to blunt
-the knife, to bring the ram out from itself
-so that it can realize its purpose
@@ -1,16 +0,0 @@
-So it's the fucking moon.  Big deal.  As if
-you haven't seen it before, tacked to the sky
-like a piece of rotten meat, or a maudlin
-
-love letter (the _i_'s dotted neatly with hearts)
-on the sky's door like the ninety-eight theses.
-
-Don't stare at it like it means anything.
-Don't give it the chance to collect meaning
-from your outstretched hand, like an old pigeon.
-
-Don't dare ascribe it a will, or call it fickle,
-or think it has any say in your affairs.
-
-It's separated from you by three hundred and eighty
-thousand miles of empty space,
@@ -1,9 +0,0 @@
-_How astonishing it is that language can almost mean,
- but frightening that it does not quite._
-_A word is elegy to what it signifies._
-
-The world is somewhat large and unwieldy.
-This is something I think we can all agree on.
-And although we may be unwieldy, knocking around semi-anonymously between our work and our families, between eating and sleeping, between the bigness that surrounds us on both sides like a tall hedge wall, we are by no means large.
-This is something else we can agree on, if we're honest with ourselves.
-
@@ -1,16 +0,0 @@
-I didn't see it for days, or even months.
-I lost track after a while how long it was.
-Then one night, there it was, reclining
-on the mountains as if they were a couch.
-_I missed you_, I said, but it didn't hear
-or it pretended not to, I don't know which.
-I thought it was looking right at me, but
-it could've been staring over my shoulder
-at something glinting.  I guess I have to try
-harder, try something different.  I'm going
-to sing to it, bring it flowers every night,
-something white to brighten up my hands.
-
-Years later, when I've won it back, when
-it shows itself to me without asking, I'll
-
@@ -1,35 +0,0 @@
-| He didn't have any polish so he spit-shined the whole thing
-| until it gleamed like a [tomato on the vine][] that was begging
-| to be picked and thrown on some caprese.  Death loved caprese.
-
-| He stood up to put the horn to his lips, trying to imagine
-| it was a woman he loved.  He blushed as he realized how bad
-| [the metaphor was][].  He practiced anyway for six hours a day
-| in front of the mirror---what else to do with all the time?
-
-| Death looked at [himself in the mirror][] as he played, the trumpet
-| suspended in midair.  _Damn vampire rules_, he thought.
-| He was always worried he might have [missed a spot][] while shaving
-| but he'd never know unless a stranger---he had no friends---
-| was kind enough.  Not that he goes out anyway or meets people.
-
-| He started waking up late, staying in bed later.
-| He started thinking he was depressed.  He never did eat
-| that caprese, and it started getting soggy, green spots
-| spreading on the mozzarella like bedsores.  The sun
-| filtered through the [kitchen blinds like smoke][]. He had
-| to get out of the house.  He decided to go to the arcade.
-
-| When he got there, it was empty except for a boy
-| [with dead eyes][].  So far so good, Death thought.
-| He was playing a first-person shooter, something violent.
-| Death walked past him and watched out of the corner
-| of his eye.  The kid was good.  Death decided
-| to congratulate him.  He had his trumpet in his hand.
-
-[himself in the mirror]: moongone.html
-[with dead eyes]: big-dipper.html
-[tomato on the vine]: wallpaper.html
-[the metaphor was]: leaf.html
-[missed a spot]: january.html
-[kitchen blinds like smoke]: what-we-are-made-of.html
@@ -1,26 +0,0 @@
-I am a great pillar of white smoke.
-I am Lot's nameless wife turned to salt.
-
-I am the wound on Christ's back as he moans
-with the pounding of a hammer on his wrist.
-
-I am the nail that holds his house together,
-the long nail in his right wrist that points
-
-toward heaven.  I am that nail and I am
-the builder of the house, a strong house
-
-with a sound foundation.  I am not the only
-one who lives here.  I am the god of
-
-a race of dust mites who build monuments
-in my honor every day in the small dark
-
-corners of my house.  I destroy each one
-before I sleep each night.  Every morning
-
-there are still more.  I am unaware where
-all of them are.  There are too many.
-
-I am a god without a name in an empty house.
-I am an open wound festering in the white sun.
@@ -1,11 +0,0 @@
-I am a great pillar of white smoke.
-I am Lot's nameless wife encased in salt.
-
-I am the wound on Christ's wrist groaning
-under the repeated weight of a hammer.
-
-I am the nail in the wound that points
-toward heaven.  I am the nail that holds
-
-his kingdom together around my cold
-thin body.
@@ -1,6 +0,0 @@
-The moon is gone and in its place a mirror.
-Looking at the night sky, the viewer sees only his own face as viewed from far away, surrounded by a vague landscape of mountains, the plain he's standing on, a river.
-He sees he is alone in the wilderness.
-He wonders in being alone.
-
-But behind him, the viewer sees a pursuer.