BURNING HOUSE PRESS

(1) Photo of religious figurines of Christ being taken down from the cross and mourners below set before a textured blue background. Superimposed text:

Holy Water (Overflow)

Now that we’re old, we are finding the world again, in the dark, where we left it. – Gellu Naum

Follow God’s light, glimmer, feint glimmer.
His light explodes. Suddenly, it is dark
and we are forgotten. A mistake he made.
I can!t see, deep, here in the collapsed moment.
A cavern is no home, is no place to be,
but who has choice?

(2) Photo of ancient wooden chairs turned down, a patch of light on a floor of ancient, ornate tiles with flowers. What appears to be pink oil pastels circle two tiles and mark the board of a chair. Superimposed text:

I speak to you. You listen. I explain nothing. You’re all aglow. I
don’t understand why you’re illuminati, one who sheds light.
Luminous books, a miniature book, print so small I cannot
read. An illuminated text glows in the cavern, provides the only
light.

tis now the very witching time of night
William Shakespeare

I shake my wand through the witching hour. Wizardly powers
lie in enchanting words, a ritual recitation of words.
Words are not illusory, aren’t a conjuring trick, a deception or
illusion. Words are sorcery, at the source and in the beginning.

(3) Black and while photo of nuns with children set between two panels of aging concrete. Two rows of crudely drawn shapes outline some of the figures’ heads in pink pastel. Superimposed text:

I hardly said a thing all morning. I didn’t say a word. I gave my
word; I’d never divulge your secret, but then I forgot the
password.

Shhhh, you whisper and then you sleep.
The idea of the game is to capture all pieces.
You take care of all the arrangements. You’re on guard,
cautious, wary, alert even. Beware, keep in mind, bear in mind,
then, forget.

(4) Photo of textured surface rendered in pink and burnt orange in a diagonal composition. Superimposed text:

Don’t know what to do. To do or not to float downstream, like
it’s over.

Deserted city of the heart I hear your call, straddling the divide
like being, like becoming, like going.

Everyday, we suffer a trial by mortal combat. Everyday, we
suffer the pain of mortal illness. We listen as the last water
ripples downstream.

Running from the fall, a falling crushed hope, the falling
temperature froze this distant night. We were falling through
the eye, needled by God’s voice.

(5) Faded image of a female saint or Mother Mary, eyes turned upward, set upon a textured purple background. Superimposed text:

A falling market, falling incomes, when comes the time? I have
a prediction, someone told me to sell, someone told me to buy.
Who’s telling me right?

(6) Blue image with multiple textured photographic layers including that of a sculpture of a face, mouth open in agony. Superimposed text:

We slip out into the night-bar, drink beyond satiety; fall in the
street of inequality, the place we live.

We didn’t sleep through the dark hours. In those days we were
gone, turned on by the night. In those days we were high,
higher than the sky we kissed. I might slip away, come away,
drift on my tears.

(7) Photo of textured concrete walls rendered in yellow and pink, graffiti that reads, “STRAIGHT OUTTA BALLARÒ” in block writing. Superimposed text:

Lost and neglected things languish in limbo, the home of
innocent or righteous souls.

Caving in, suddenly there was no way out. The wall collapsed,
the business broke, and my roof fell in under the weight of ice.

(8) Layers of images rendered in purple, chartreuse, dark green. Grafitti-like figures, a brick wall, vertical bars, stylized flowers and leaves. Superimposed text:

I can’t say much more at this stage. You can say even less.
The lines are still open; call me up when I’m down. Fold or
close, crumble, break down.

(9) Layers of photos of smokestacks, bleching smoke, rendered in pink and blue. Superimposed text:

To burst, suffer a nervous breakdown, crack like an icy pipe.
The system is collapsing. The system collapsed. No one
noticed.

My eyes were dark caverns, hollow, a hollow space. We played
in a cavern, fretted over fragile thought.

The cavern is our home.