you don’t tell what you know you barely know what you tell. not news, i know. but we lurch into a wave broken on its spine or die trying anyway the midnight sky isn’t any murkier than the the bottom of the sea and the next world doesn’t care all that much how we feel about its timing. any pregnant pause can tell you that.
my own purchase is what? not a toehold, not a bag of groceries, not a splendid view of orion coming up over the mountain between here and there. you might say horse mountain you might say horse you might say horses in the briny salt air, eating their hay and standing – those there – these here – for now.
monte merrick
This article appears in Global Solidarity at the Mouth of the Klamath.
Breathtaking. Thank you.