cryptical envelopment
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Everything Clicked
As he turned his back to close the door she bent to light a candle. He closed his eyes and sucked in the sharp sulfur and sweet wax smell, listened in his momentary flash of blindness to the snap zip rustle of her dress, the sizzle of the candle, faint laughter in the distant street. Continue reading
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Finding Cortázar’s La Maga
Surrealism and synchronicity: I happened onto Andre Breton’s Nadja while trying to find a new book on my Kindle. My Kindly suggestions are usually overwhelmed by my partner’s voracious appetite for light reading. Fortunately my decision to drive into László Krasznahorkai has led to other interesting books. I noted in the book’s description that it influenced Continue reading
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It’s time to take Anxiety for a walk
It’s time to take Anxiety for a walk. He won’t take a leash; she only comes when I don’t call; to calm us both we need to retreat to the trees. This is my hof, my temple, my cathedral.Not gods exactly but simultaneously chthonic and a partof the heavens. Tree of Life Genesis and RevelationsKalpavriksha Continue reading
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EL JOROBADO
EL JOROBADOBeen living on the outskirts. My leather bag of sweet corn, my cane of resentments. Been taking my time, my proper salutations to the Hood, this deep embarkation toward you, hermana-remember me?Day one: when you introduced me to your servants. Day two: when you guessed at my deep accent, the one you said was Continue reading
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DON’T BLINK
I was doing well in remission with minimal meds until the current circus of the damned rolled over town. I had my own imps to deal with they were mostly under control doing very well thanks for voting for hell. Continue reading
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Blesséd Are the Bipolar
hymn to Sts. Byron, Thomas, Plath and Lowellthree solid draft poems in the last two hours so it goes for those blessed with the darkangel of hypo-mania black cousin of Duendebut not as dark as the hours of anhedonia Continue reading
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Crow Cousins
The crows come first alone or a pair but quickly gather in dozens when I cast handfuls of cheap cat food. I have a spot walk to the front of the park through the old growth live oaks where I feed them, beneath to especially large trees where the ground is mostly bare from the Continue reading
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Night Train to Lorca
There are moments I record here and moments I do not. Moments of terror or desire or shallow despair at the worthlessness of this endeavor. Why must I write? Because not to is to be a tourist.— Bill Lavender, “Tui” I got lost after leaving the Alhambra and stopped for lunch. On the way I Continue reading
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Not Drunk Unless
Not drunk unless on leafbreath and godswink, my path doesn’t stagger; it wanders with care, following some loose rules about how I pass by, under the boughs of and around certain trees, usually widdershins, compassing the roots and boles and others bowing for a benediction where the arch of branches buttress the sky. The Crow Continue reading
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No to inhumanism and post-humanism
Answer to Robison JeffersTo keep one’s own integrity, be merciful and uncorrupted and not wish for evil; and not be duped By dreams of universal justice or happiness. These dreams willnot be fulfilled. – “The Answer” Robinson Jeffers A delineated and revised poem. Yes and yes and yes and yes but no, not duped Continue reading
About Me
Mark Folse is a provincial diarist and aspiring minor poet from New Orleans. His past blogging adventures included the Katina/Federal Flood blog wetbankguide on blogspot.com which David Simon told NY Magazine was one of three blogs that helped inform Treme, and Toulouse Street–Odd Bits of Life in New Orleans, which once outranked the Doobie Brothers on Google Search. His work has appeared in The Dead Mule School of Southern Literature, The New Delta Review, Metazen, New Laurel Review, Ellipsis, What We Know: New Orleans as Home, Please Forward, The Maple Leaf Rag IV, and A Howling in the Wires (which he co-edited).
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Well Bottom Blues 