Incredible journey

life is like that, and exceedingly rich, deep, fine, challenging, full of darkness and light, proverbial dreams, grand moments of emptiness, "polished jewels of an angels tears", all is focused at finishing up a good week and quarter at work and then off on vacation for 10 days. both of us are ready willing able deserving joyous funny grateful supportive toward each other and familial tides are raising high the ship we sail upon. our lives collide, dissect, press for rememberance, stand at the altar, move in slow cadance, toil not trouble, drink thee a cup of tea, for this breath and the next.

what was it he said when he said what he said at the foot of the bed when the moment was wed to the moment we live in and give in and willingly sit in with all of our senses in tune is it june is it may is it i is it they is it you is it we is it one is it three doing dishes calling cards wrapping gifts and locking arms away away and inward go thee traveling souls this softened shell of night repose and rise the day has come the night will slip into your thumb that taste so long remembered and the one-eyed bear who holds you there now there now all is well.

Bonfires, feathers, ring of shell

soul distribution variety package pal code 2 dominion of rags, san pelegrino, shuddering blinds in springtime breeze, drumming on ally dumpsters calls to attention that inner voice of fear, carves that wave into hillock and trough when past present future collapse, surrender, gracefully bow in gratitude, each dancer has their own signature, owning up, getting clear, handing over some imperfect wound to another, or several scattered round the floor, waiting their turn to unbind, acquiesce, validate imperfect existence as enough to fund our gratitude as each moment rounds thousands of corners on hundreds of railroad mountainsides gathering speed, clackity clack clackity clack don't look back don't look back, but remember, remember who as there that day when we stood by that river, i knealt before you my knees on blackberry vines, nothing and everything became you, retraced my existence to humble beginnings, took that moment of joy, small trembling, spots of blood, now again scratching on your door, planning nothing but an entry and following whole rings of truth, into the dozen hazelnut bonfires, downy feathers flying up with the smoke, shells uncovered in tidal pool slipped beneath your nightshirt, my hands, our hearts, all are bound and free.

Ritual of grass

how some fall in fields swept by wind, trails and burrows of weasel, mole, mouse and coyote uncrowded, spreading fingers toward low hills whose pine needle floors are cooled with evening's kiss, piedmont graves with fence of steel, my grandparents lie forever with a view toward the western range, one day you will stand beside me watching those multilayered clouds divide thin skyscape into vast oceanic treble-hook fist, blinding thousands of dogs whose willing tongues drench lichen granite veils by running over that spanish ridge, down that gully where mule deer crest and fall each afternoon, barking mulies too, they got shot at by grandpa when his mood was in prairie volly or moskee tribunal, cracking open chamber loading and locking, dutiful sight compressing space and time into one tense knuckle on his right hand, ready to squeeze the life out of a six-point buck, smell of gut, hide, blood in garage late afternoon while dressing and portioning for freezer, marking those white-wrapped packages of venison with red magic marker, no sadness nor longing for companionship, an easy evening with sharp and polished knives, sawing the bones now and then, taking all of sweet time's stretching hand into his for this dance, ritual of grass and creek-fed palaces during a cool season, down with the apples, down with the coal.

Follicle rotation, current status

when hairs on my head begin to shift in breeze, gray at the temples, contract with each other to feign subsistence articulation beyond thirteen reaches of gravity, value thousands of revolutionary treatises posted on hundreds of telephone poles in several western cities, calibrate when, how and why passionate birds will engender themselves toward diving reaches as worms struggle to rebury themselves along perfectly rendered edges of suburban lawns, choke up as enzio pinza sings "some enchanted evening" on the big screen south pacific with chorus, palms, military reconginicances, graphic lines of work, duty-bound nurses and wounded airmen bleeding off at the edges, pounce on teddy bear in fear as ominous chapters of jane eyre advance that unavoidable moment of crisis when the girl downstairs meets the crazy lady in the attic, beat their drums and trill their whistles to that unfalteringly brilliant and bouncy tune by v carhart titled "we're in love", when and if they thin, tatter, go for broke, vainly watch themselves in the mirror, beg for a clip, dash toward unreachable edges of floor on the bathroom tile, then shall i confiscate my obligation to write down what corresponding letters and words have dumped into the brain they decorate from whosoever left me here in pajama-land, asking only for a workman's wages.

Cerebellum goodnik

"the little brain" that watches while i dance, crowing in gutters, that pest in control of my fingertip waggle downing strong drink to further thesis bending, curatorial efforts set aside, again my projects pile up thigh high as spring unveils her charms gushing vertigo seedpackets out into sky, walker's birthday coming up the horizon, shopping today for him was fun, a diversion from appointments and sorrow on virginia's plate, such an amazing attitude and teamwork we continue to exhibit, i look in the mirror sometimes and make sure that everything is real, that is my honest contributions are not leaving my guts in a barrel by the earthen door for bear and possum to sniff, that no one is impressing anyone with fake anything, that internal health and recovery is the foundation and springboard for any kind of help i offer or give, even baking a cake, yummy chocolate oh i highly recommend the kinnikinik (sp?) cake mix that is wheat and gluten free (add lots of oil and eggs per the instructions) for a smooth, moist, delicious experience in the evening or morning, highly advise eating while watching "the river" by jean renoir perched while reclining, perhaps with tea and spring water, this the first entry since last week as finding time or brainspace to blog is tough, life has taken charge, my writing project may bend away yet again, this time something large and long-term, like love can be, of self, of spirit, of other who is kind and honest and reflects those qualities in yourself, this is a season of healing and hoving, tunneling into why and allowing the answers to be cared for, respected, basking in the light of gratitude like turtles in lake washington's marshy sanctuary, be well, be well all.

Scheherazade mangle

intrigue has one thousand and one faces, matrices forbidden long ago have now linked and climbed beyond the top of any walls that divide our stories from our snowy hills, there is a dancer seeking new combinations to demonstrate, constructing the mathematical tables one leg at a time, tureens of soup balenced on her head as she pours forth the tales that keep her alive, nexus of pain and tranquility, each pulse of temperature change denotes an algorithm from the nursery to panel seventeen, april wind noodling about on a clarinet, taps stream with mead and acorns burst open as she walks by, running her laundry through the double-roller mangle to hang out in the sun, remaining in her story, captivating each ray of light that falls around the garden, curtains of shadow draping over some compost-pile as it steams and digests, relentless change information colalescence vanishing through briars like a bunny=form=cigarette version applied to all patches be they service pack one or service pack two, tell me more please, sing all of the songs you learned in your silent years of exile, make reference to the blades whirling toward a congress of dreams, delve deeply into these pages, these illustrations.