Archive for the ‘Prose Poems’ Category

Inaudible Differences

The present cannot birth the future if the past leaps out of its coffin. Each today was yesterday’s tomorrow and tomorrow’s yesterday. Growth must slough off its younger self in order to become its older self. Eyes close to sleep but also to blink, to die. Behind every step is another step, another step, another step. Even at the center of hate there is love, a love to hate. After enough days of staring at the world you’ll begin to notice these inaudible differences. Every idea’s umbilical chord is still attached to an ancient idea. Truth massages Lie’s shoulders. Freedom drinks tears. Safety rests in a box of sharp objects.

A brief history of triangles in one of my prose poems, published earlier this week at The Camel Saloon. Sometimes time helps us forget, but often words help us remember what was.


are the crowned shapes. They were the earliest markings upon the walls, the beginning dribbles of art. “Pubic triangles” ancients called women’s reproductive organs before language grew immature. But some mummified opinion will say we are born from holes. Yes, circles bring us into life but all those circles lay at the center of closed v’s. More than God knows why Egyptian monuments aren’t pentagons. It wasn’t a crash that placed healthy eating inside of a pyramid. Aristotle understood the golden imprint a three-sided structure leaves upon a story.  A trapezoid must be a trapezoid. A square must be square or it risks being mistaken for a rectangle. But a triangle is a contortionist, able to shrink and expand and change while never changing. No matter the exterior conditions, the interior of a triangle will remain constant. We should all be turned green by the inner perfection of such a flexible shape.