lovers who are really geese: October 2013

swans

"Doesn't really matter, you know, what kind of nasty names people invent for the music. But, uh, folk music is just a word, you know, that I can't use anymore. What I'm talking about is traditional music, right, which is to say it's mathematical music, it's based on hexagons. But all these songs about, you know, roses growing out of people's brains and lovers who are really geese and swans are turning into angels - I mean, you know, they're not going to die. They're not folk music songs. They're political songs. They're already dead."

Jude, I'm Not There.

Illustration of goose from here.

Sunday, October 20, 2013

In Absence

You left your ratty slippers
on the shoe stand.
I find your toothbrush
still in its place, bristles
touching mine.
There are dustballs here
made of your skin cells,
and cobwebs that
carry the weight of your gaze.
You left fingerprints
on the light switches.
Your goodbye a breath, still
on the doorstep.
Still hanging on the coat rack.
Still dripping from the tap.