Solstice Offering 2024 by Ali Freedlund
We bow to be lifted. Continue reading Solstice Offering 2024 by Ali Freedlund
We bow to be lifted. Continue reading Solstice Offering 2024 by Ali Freedlund
Snow lies thick and immovable, covered now with ice. This glue molds the white into impossible formsLike jokes.Their hilarity is solid and unchanging. I’m wearing pink pajamas with little monkeys leaping all over my body. This humor must be catching. … Continue reading ODE to Morning Snow
I breathe in this morning air, inside this house. From the outside, this house is pale yellow and dwells among the last few leaves of autumn. Lavished with gold and orange and occasionally a deep scarlet, this little house sits here with pale yellow walls holding it in place. Inside this house, three small dogs sit beside me on a large red leather sofa. I speak into my phone to record these thoughts at this moment—8:48 a.m. I’m 71. I feel soft. This skin holds me together, inside some bones are breaking down from overuse. Too much firewood for the … Continue reading From One Coast to the Other
Bang, crash, grind – inside the tube, an unrelenting rhythm, sounds that slice my brain and blip their nebulae across the screen; I think I feel the piercing probe, the fractals through what might be my brain, if not, the … Continue reading BRAIN ARCHEOLOGY
Human Skin A bedside glass holds water for the night, the liquid, clear and cold—a trapped transparency. My little lamp shines out a secret light that bares a colder outdor currency. Now, rubbing on the window, comes the snow to … Continue reading The Skin You’re In
Your Seaport Home for Marianne There’re ghosts where you live in the middle of town; While tucked in my bed, one came in through the door. She was wan and diaphanous, sad and profound, with sheets in her hands … Continue reading Your Seaport Home ( for Marianne)