m.t. whitington


A force majeure, female catalyst, futurist, polemicist, psychonaut, epistemologist. Ruminating between the lines with a clarion call and extreme unction.  A global writer with southern roots.


gloaming

gloaming

gloaming—


a term for the other house of patriarchy,

pre-bunking even the mugwump

taking credit for what they voted against.


default. fault lines. in the meantime a grace note…


divinely, in the last light, dusk descends

to the faintest glow keeping the torch lit.

rethink the future with remote work.


laser beams control lightning 


on a mountaintop in Switzerland. 

ride revisionist filament playing Zeus a bit.

classically wired for altered states,


reality is becoming more dreamlike,


one god away from the total agreement.

now, on the road to the Pe’ahi Valley

with palm fronds waving in the afternoon wind,


come under the sphere of rainbows. 


earth roaming in the gloaming,

plant Merwin’s end of the world tree 

before the fault catastrophe. flex and you're in the air 


again leaving twilight in the distance.

head towards the source,

to mythical forests with a labyrinth of rocks.


three springs of formations,


Ray-Pic tumbles to the lava flow solidified. 

canoeing through gorges on the Adréche,

gliding Pingree beneath the Pont d’Arc,


whitewater, rapid heartache, inhuman beings.

white walker sweet alyssum, tawny dry grass hills of wildflowers.

whip passed dire predictions about the economy.


fire season, this could just as well be home.


in the dying light, mark my words…

bikewanderer on the verge of a bank run

1500 km through Saudi Arabia,


black bile oiled up in reserves,

fed up with the old-world latency,

realtime cycles. rust AI, 


you are in the becoming future world order.


back to the valley of the moon,

dinner at dusk and musk scream doom…

the world is between orders; it is adrift, and chicks panic


as if they were lost in the Sierras. 

the moon is crossing the sky,

moss on the north side. to the south follow tree eyes


in constellations ever after, from Emmigrant to Shasta.


sullen granite concerns in my garden…

living every day as if it were the last,

plant something. plant anything. new landmarks.


plant a tree for someone else to sit under.


melancholia they say, expect the unexpected 

and plan accordingly. lost in the twilight,

STOP is the acronym! stop. think. observe. plan.


stand in the gloaming—

Limerence

Limerence

a poem every day prompts 2023

a poem every day prompts 2023