Tag Archives: autumn

Intentions

Posted on October 31, 2006 by heath quinn

Stepping from a cab onto a rainy street in New York City where I live I’m splashed by cabs that pass at speed forcing force sheets of dirty water up and over enemies on foot, like me. Like that, the … Continue reading →

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Autumn Sometimes Walks To Summer

Posted on October 7, 2006 by heath quinn

Sweetgum trees, with ruddy leaves like stars, their scent fills autumn air from darkened ground to morning sky. Their trunks are long-stretched, rugged necks. Or are they legs, in stockings dark and rough? Do sweetgums walk at night? The dark … Continue reading →

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Autumn Sometimes Walks To Summer: Verbose

Posted on October 6, 2006 by heath quinn

Sweetgums’ autumn scent claims this sacred clearing from the darkened, dappled ground up to the morning sky. A canopy of intermittent starry fire is held above the sweetgums’ long-stretched, rugged necks. Or are these columns legs, in stockings made of … Continue reading →

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