unfunny the comic time alone
like vaudeville misdeed in an uncommon
era of thieves. how little I have slept
with thought of comedy and crackle,
coffin and dove. where have I gone? up river
and over? no matter, they proceed
like the business of the moon.
perhaps i amble in peace of the dawn
or trickle like spring in the crevice.
perhaps i ruffle and tumble
in the lay of my brain.
i don’t know. they don’t know.
but they must have known, like business
of moon and wave and flood. daily business.
they must have known
when the coffin and the dove
made business of love. must have known
when we made business of man
and lived in the aftermath
with coffee and sun and ticket stub.
they must have known. i must have known.Read More
Frilly the frosted snowflake was born inside a cloud in the frigid December sky. She was not born alone, for no snowflake is ever born alone. She developed her crystallized prongs and the sheen of her frosty skin by feeding on the nutritious moisture that passed through the cloud. She spent her maturing days fluttering through the confines of her home and touching the outstretched prongs of other snowflakes, her brotherly and sisterly ones, while whistling her humor into the passing breezes.Read More
Being a recent graduate of Providence College, I sometimes peruse The Cowl online. As a journalist—albeit a bad one—I occasionally find myself wanting to respond to a commentary. Yet, until now, I have restrained myself. After all, The Cowl is campus business, and although I may be a “Friar for life,” I have left the novitiate that is PC. After reading Mr. Macasaquit’s recent assault on Christmas, however, I cannot help but make it my business once again.Read More