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Lori Witzel
Works at Spanning Backup
Lives in Cedar Park, TX
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Lori Witzel

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Passage
"Map with Ship," artist unknown, via Smithsonian Magazine An airplane will skim the air like a flat stone, city to city. We will be on it, in it, tiny limpets clinging to the stone. An automobile will contain its small, smelly explosions and nudge towards u...
"Map with Ship," artist unknown, via Smithsonian Magazine An airplane will skim the air like a flat stone, city to city. We will be on it, in it, tiny limpets clinging to the stone. An automobile will contain its small, smell...
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Cape May
Image from Google Maps . We spent the whole day at the shore, sitting on the seawall from sunrise to sundown, the tide moving out then back in, as if it had to run an errand mid-day. At low tide, we both scrambled down the concrete ledge to look for treasur...
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Surfeit
The redbirds chit as they chase overhead— dun-blush girl, blazoned boy. I was up before they were, scuffling by a harvestman legging his way (home? to hide?) and listening to my breath. A jay, a jay yells and drops a feather at my feet, then laughs: “Made y...
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Croton
We scrubby little things who do well where it’s scraped earth and caliche nod to each other. A squat of prairie tea, a dash out then back by a spotted whiptail lizard, a bustling caterpillar hunter ( Calosoma affine ) as black as the night I usually wander ...
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What? No, no... wait... Okay, that's croatoan.  Nevermind.
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Botanical
Crinum Americanum L. , by Alex Popovkin, Bahia, Brazil I think about those people of mine, those who sewed uncut gemstones into their hems as trader’s insurance, those who went with slaves and brocade and sharp steel, who brought back silk and aloes, those ...
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Stalking
Red-Spotted Purple Butterfly , Jay Bock It’s those little deaths piling up on my doorstep that break me down. The mud-stained yellow of a magnolia warbler, eye half-shuttered, one wing broken and spilling bones; the now unreadable parchment of what was once...
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Have her in circles
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Lori Witzel

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Syrinx
Dust plume off the Canary Islands, by NASA The wind makes neighbors of us all—music from dry streets tamped by strangers’ feet, from campsite radios, faint but overheard in those Aeolian processes that lift a veil of dust in North Africa, trailing gossamer ...
Dust plume off the Canary Islands, by NASA The wind makes neighbors of us all—music from dry streets tamped by strangers’ feet, from campsite radios, faint but overheard in those Aeolian processes that lift a veil of dust in...
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Migrants
Frank Carey, Fort Union Cistern , 2011 It’s a dry season. My love, that limestone cistern can’t store enough to see us through—there’s a hairline crack, and it’s seeping. Frogs pluck songs from mud near the crack, soft plectrum chirps, singing “Cheer-up, ch...
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Summer Dirge
" Shrine at Covered Wells, Arizona " by Tillman This bright forge has burnt my heart away. My thoughts all charred by the sun, calcined ribs crack as I breathe: too parched for tears, I’m gutted. And look! Even in a grave, no cool shade—it’s bleached by the...
"Shrine at Covered Wells, Arizona" by Tillman This bright forge has burnt my heart away. My thoughts all charred by the sun, calcined ribs crack as I breathe: too parched for tears, I’m gutted. And look! Even in a grave, no c...
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Iftar
Photograph by ESO/B. Tafreshi , 2012 This is the time we break our fast, when the sun at last weakens and the waxing moon rises. I reach into clouds, part the darkness to take you, o pearl, o moon, in my hands: an illusion, but your light on my fingers is n...
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Scotoma
Look at the sun long enough, and all that’s left is a scotoma of shadow and radiance - not the face of a boy who was made to watch as you murdered his family, not your own face (and who would dare remember you as you’d been, when once a child?) I know someo...
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Heat Lightning
It’s five in the morning, and I’m moving through the shadows in shadow by touch, unsteadily scuffling with small ravines. A ghost – its spin axis a pale torso – drifts past, trailing a sound like brushes on sand, gleaming for a fraction of a second in the g...
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People
Have her in circles
97 people
Michael Costello's profile photo
Scalable Software's profile photo
joanne moretti's profile photo
Daniel Petrean's profile photo
Angie Goertz's profile photo
Christopher Bonney's profile photo
Craig Fox's profile photo
Get Your Certification's profile photo
Tommy Landry's profile photo
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Currently
Cedar Park, TX
Contact Information
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Email
Work
Occupation
Product Marketing
Skills
Marketing, plus a few other things here: www.linkedin.com/in/loriwitzel/
Employment
  • Spanning Backup
    Product Marketing, present
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Gender
Female
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Lori Witzel's +1's are the things they like, agree with, or want to recommend.
Wind
koshtra.blogspot.com

I wonder why they make those "road work" signs so like kites? I walked by half a dozen, this morning, blown over, groveling face down in the

Oarsman
koshtra.blogspot.com

The extraordinary weight of quotidian desire, even when it has faded to a tenuous burden: if one tried to land a ship on Neptune one would s

Spa Day
koshtra.blogspot.com

I heave myself up. You have no idea how much muscle it takes to raise this mass onto the rocks. No clever monkey hands, not me. I come from

Far Side of the Hill
koshtra.blogspot.com

Sometimes just to see that light, that slow light of afternoon washing over sidewalks and the faces of buildings, sometimes just to see it i

Wherever I will be
poefrika.blogspot.com

When I am sick and dying, gripped by death’s hand and dreading the colour of each day and each night, a road will open up to take me away, a

Sun as Orange
koshtra.blogspot.com

A sun as orange as an orange rose behind the gray, staggered limbs of the douglas firs: fires, fires all the way from Mt Adams to Lake Chela

Long White Sand
koshtra.blogspot.com

Struggling to bring this ashore, to roll this corpse up over the tidemark. Not sure, not at all sure, that I shouldn't just let it wash out

CLUMPS AND VOIDS
clumpsandvoids.blogspot.com

RANT DU JOUR Desserts are grand, as long as I have ordered one. Unsummoned sweets, however, trigger not my salivary glands but rather bile d

Pemberley
koshtra.blogspot.com

We will not be called upon to justify our lives. No ledger appears at the close, no recording angel holds an exit interview. What's forgotte

Fontanelle
koshtra.blogspot.com

Midsummer, leith an if you care; the foreleith and the afterleith can fail to knit. The intercalary comes there, the fontanelle of the year,

Something New and Vigorous and Shameless
koshtra.blogspot.com

Toast with marmalade. Ancient sunlight resting lightly on the northwest surfaces of curtains, restaurant tables, hands. Feeling in full poss

Where The Target Is
koshtra.blogspot.com

Downtown, a woman fell into step with me on the sidewalk. She gave me an open, curious glance, and then asked, "Are you from here?" "From Po

Leaving The Water
koshtra.blogspot.com

I break the surface of the water, and wait breathing the strange air, feeling my gills heal over: my arms were so tired of being fins. Of co

Cascadia
koshtra.blogspot.com

I love a woman so black the night overflows with her, so big that there's no confining her. There are the scars that feather backward; there

Hatred of White
koshtra.blogspot.com

A spider, having learned she is not going to take it at a run takes a step and pauses takes a step and pauses on the vertical porcelain. Can

Morning Light
koshtra.blogspot.com

Yesterday evening I walked west, toward the city, down from our little upland, across the 82nd Avenue gully, and up the slope of Mt Tabor, h

In a Time of Drought
koshtra.blogspot.com

Already, September hints, the curtains will fall and the bare limbs of the trees will tell their secrets again in an urgent whisper, while t

Bracket
koshtra.blogspot.com

Proleptic grief: I suppose I had better get used to it. So often death comes heralded now, bracketed like a First World War artillery barrag

Cornrows
koshtra.blogspot.com

Cornrows, braids, close-written texts rising from the scalp; cuneiform hair gleaming on the wet clay of a Sumerian morning: weeping, weeping

Tidal Flats
koshtra.blogspot.com

I'm dimly aware of not being my own master, that the words I'm saying are funneled through me. Echolalia. Not just the words; the thoughts a