Train off track, empty caves and closets. Screen glare to audiovisual disharmony , so as too… sense dissonance.
Chairs, flat back ~> floor. On feet. Feet in sturdy boots. A caustic stew of unstable words. Not King’s Fool, but… the fool of Wands. The family entitlement fool, knows little else ~> shaped of despot lineage and resources hoarding.
Train off track…. We good citizens of lost country, redirect this off kilter momentum. Substation four is waiting. That teem of Tower and Oval Office, stale blood money water, polluted. Empty it through gapping knife holes — it’s our best way.
K. Shawn Edgar | 201& | Year of Brutus
The lightning streaked my eyes again. A murder of crows, flying. The hard, crisp blackness of power lines, and a bolt through my vision. It’s increasing. Sparkle vision.
K. Shawn Edgar | Feb. 17, 2018 | Moments
I am her, she is me. Toss the jackets into the backseat. Windows rolling down. Two lanes; geese in the park, a long yellow bus drops off the approved miniatures. It’s afternoon on an autumn weekday. We stop behind the flashing red lights and octagonal sign while all school children decamp. She salutes me secretly with a two-eyed wink. Flowing on, traffic moves. There’s a beautiful wild-woman riding a bicycle, keeping pace with our car.
K. Shawn Edgar
I’m here, between asphalt black and sky blue. Point Defiance Park pinecones and needles shine golden, drawn to the exfoliating ground as we are universally propelled by narrative. Towers and towns aren’t built, they’re written in erasable ink, erasable blood, becoming vague but never fully forgotten.
| K. Shawn Edgar | September 2017 |
Cabbage roll and one-dollar flat noodles, a place to lock the bicycles out front, our booth is by the window. We are reciting kill is kiss as frames of film, jointly remembered, inform our budding courtship. Trapped in a radio station, voices and language will save us, while these chopsticks unite us.
K. Shawn Edgar 2017