Sitting naked at my computer, thinking about you. How strange that so many fear what we have. They call it prison what has freed me more than childhood. A killer of love they call this, which makes me think of you as I sit here naked in front of the screen. Each inch of my … Continue reading Sitting Naked
Let me breathe somewhere deep. The scraggy mountains call to me, entreating why I do not run or leap, or bound or climb their limbs. Breathe. And taste the line where sky and stone meet. But my feet are soft, the mountains far and my body lax with care. For while I leap and dance … Continue reading The Taste of Sky
I know there is the sublime to reach for. Kneeling with fire in her hands and golden beauty as her cloak. But I'm here. Single-wide bad paint job debt and treeless sand. I know, somewhere, exists a dream maker. Framed with lightning, outstretched wings, and a rain of crystal or diamonds. But I'm here. Sick … Continue reading Not Living the Sublime
It’s so quiet after the loud music stops playing and the curtains finally fall. I can feel myself again in the lack of sound. I can finally hear myself breathe. I’m not sure what to say. The stage had been filled with them, though. Them: the sex goddesses. Or at least acolytes to her vast … Continue reading Chicago
Author T.S. Lowe 