Sunday Light and Word – Misspent Expressions



Each closed eye, each thrust back head, each wiggled hip, left a mark. We’d look for dark rooms, loud music, long nights. Drum beats made the darkness better. Pianos isolated the need for more. Daylight, that was just a place that you made due. Nighttime pushed past the shadows.

That lasts a few years. A decade. Then those early mornings where the heat has yet to establish itself, and the golden bends of the first striated rays of light concoct a leveling codex. The time is now, you think. But it changes again and again and again. Time is like that.




by Hank Cherry


About Hank Cherry

Hank Cherry works as a photographer, filmmaker and writer in Los Angeles. His work has appeared in Slake, Southwestern American Literature, Poydras Review, and The Los Angeles Review of Books and he writes a column about the history of jazz for Offbeat. He is in post production on his first full-length documentary.
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