"It's snowing, Macks," said Jake to his cat. "Come sit by the fire. Snooze on your mat. Just look out the window. It's too cold to play. Let's ride my sled on a warmer day." But Macks was too frisky ... [+]
"Now we will find what the rest have left behind." —Lil Green There, not here, is wordless. Even whispers don't speak; gasped or groaned sibilance, bray of torrid airs blasting hairs that stray from ears or climb the throbbing nape. Inverse of explaining. There's no proximity— just brush, advancing touch, the eager clutch final as death, as life. We overmuch, coupled as urgent necessity, onrushing body and soul. Or nothing. Absence altogether, abolished us— no you or me alone. No torch song sings what's done, no chansons for utter darkness, love. Stardusts are notions moonshine brings, lyrics