Category Archives: The Liminal Times

For Fear of Not Wanting to Fear Again


Chilapa de Alvarez Young Liars

My mast ain’t so sturdy, my head is at half,
I’m searching the clouds for a storm.
My lady reveals herself of marked-down freedom,
Forever cashed out to no more.
She put the plan in the blame. Who is bearing the name
For each digress who’s left you up to
Save the skins for a pelt and the rest for a belt.
We can’t open, no nothing. Can’t open, no nothing. 

Young liars
Thank you for taking my hands
Young liars
Thank you for taking my hands

Well, it’s cold and it’s quiet, and cobblestone cold in here
Fucking for fear of not wanting to fear again
Lonely is all we are
Lovely so far, but my heart’s still a marble in an empty jelly jar
Someday suppose that my curious nervousness stills into prescience, clairvoyant consciousness
I will be calmer than cream,
Making maps out of your dreams
But will psychic ability kill the nativity or simply diminish the flinch?
Ooo Young liars,
Ooo Young liars,
Thank you for taking my hands 

And burying them deep in the world’s wet womb
Where no one can heed their commands
Where no one can heed their commands
Except you liars
Young liars

Voice strings on vocal before it on words to receive
Take my picture soon all I will be is my disease
Voice strings on vocal before it on words to receive
Take my picture soon all I will be is my disease
Voice strings on vocal before it on words to receive
Take my picture soon all I will be is my disease

Of This World

Medina Of This World

And still, we are here,
among mornings without hello,
the evenings without goodby.
The faces darting,
each a universe no other shall know.

What am I among these?
What claim have I upon the earth
that it should make room for my steps?

Here beneath the morning sky,
the grass bends, the wind divides,
the light falls upon me and passes on.

I am here,
and in being here, something else is absent.

And you are too,
among the hands that reach and hold,
the voices rising in citysurf,
the names remembered and surrendered.

Where are the millions who stood upon this ground,
who loved beneath this sky,
who asked these questions of darkness?

The earth closes round their absence.
The wind stirs where they stood.
Yet every life disturbs the stillness.
Every hand alters what it touches.
Every voice joins the unfinished sentence.

Must I understand the journey to undertake it?
Must I know the destination to rejoice the road?
I am the question and the asking,
the traveler and the passing ground.

When the earth reclaims the space I borrowed,
when light falls where I once stood,
let it be that I was here,
that I moved among souls,
that I loved this improbable existence,
that I made room for others
as the world made room for me.

And still, we are here,
while the light finds us,
while the earth yields beneath our feet.
We are of the world passing through itself.

Wake, Bride

Wake, Bride

Wake, wake, Bride.
The low blue current
kinetics the room.

A lamp trembles.
Your name warms
the rim of my mouth.
The bass leans close.

Our shadows loosen,
turning circles, slow,
around the earth’s sleeping heart.

I bring you a little fire.
You return it as flame
at my neck,
as salt, as honey,
as the first red note
of morning.

Wake, wake, Bride.
The world opens by degrees,
heat gathering
in our hands.