when the soup is *on*, isn’t it. how do you kill a spider, and está une serpente? who was that downstairs? it was me. now reverse it.
Tag Archives: saison calendular
INTO THE MAGIC NIGHT / 01200220
When I fall asleep among the angels and irises to dream my dreams of you, when a marching band of burst-open stars, when a call comes in for aide, when a hunt’s fresh complete, when a balladeer in the afternoon–wear a pair of your best glasses
HAPPY SATURNALIA / 12190120
When the power players converge and the plan is to save and there’s a spoiler on the loose and people wanna go see a star war, but you just want to sprout your cases and turn off one light and embrace the other. When your letters of love are on the table and ready. When love is all there is.
DA COME UP / 11191219
When fire-breathing, count your money, count your blessings;
REIGN O’ER ME / 10191119
For overtime and pyrrhic losses after a visit to a sad place, cut with piping hot fries and the receipt of a stringed gift. For a visit to E.R. (but only the first four seasons), the morning after a late-night catharsis. For when you really need to rewatch Buffy.
‘18 Venusian Regnant
October 1=apple upsidedown cake, tea, new brakes, a kernel and a knife in your pocket; woe and wings.
’19 Les retours d’Aphrodïte
When Venusians reign and we admit to flying unidentified; when you miss her more&more&more&more All The Time. . . . . . then you’re pulled into a kiss of equal cups and you turn the volume higher.
The JASPER VESSEL / 08190919
For when you’re vestal and a smash with a fresh spray of roses and yer primline neat with what you need to do. *And how!*, in B&W.
PUSH, PUSH LADY LIONINE / 07190819
… and where is that harmony? Sweet harmony is when the roaring continues uninterrupted over the gaps of shifting channels. linear time is a joke. when you order an iced honeybear at the halfwit wormhole and plan on the three levels of love-worn pages in the neighborhood-nearby future
FISHING IN THE DARK / 06190719
When tears of a drowning pool and your other half wakes you up early to tell you ‘we’re going to war,’ after his own end-of-world dreams. Time for the after-party–invites out, sneakers in the mail, and a new set of clubs. . .
kate carsella 