Saturday, December 31, 2016

Number 64

That was the truth as much as I could get it. The cold shakes up the frost. Where in this starkness does it matter? How to hold onto the moment of breathing without number 64. I will do it. I barely use 65 and then the too strong 66 disinfects even the tiles. What gains I've made these past weeks. I've been at the windows looking at the polish. Glass becoming water as I walk away.

Friday, December 30, 2016

Custodian vs. The Sandman: Just A Matter Of Time

It was my eagle after all soaring behind the mountain into the gates of the canyon on this fine day the reindeer entering their silence and me with a phone.

Wednesday, December 28, 2016

The Way It Was Going

The way it was going had a lot to be desired. Let's just say that the way it was going fell by the wayside tripping just a bit and then remembering to pick up its feet instead of sliding right along. The Chief Inspector told me a thing or two that I already knew By heart if not by sight.

Tuesday, December 27, 2016

Two Hours

The Chief Inspector called me up wanted me back on the case. I said I had retired quite some time ago when I still had the acumen. Well whatever. The chief said this and I knew I was back. I had to dig through miles of dirt to get to the bottom of things. Just like with the Chief. This proves you never quite know. Evening hit like a drug and then it was time the consider wrapping it up packing it all into two hours.

Monday, December 26, 2016


Simple disc Eating the sun Not quite paper Not quite leather Return Return to Moon's soft powdery face I'll bring in extra wood Calm down the fire Its embers and a hidden wind

Sunday, December 25, 2016

It Sounds Like A Sentence

It is about feeling and then knowing what is the dark and what is lighting the obvious that must become what like living in the past matters taken to heart on a daily basis

Friday, December 23, 2016

Regarding The Night

We were shuffled from place to place. I like this work it takes my mind away. Bombs everywhere until I lost my old self. Are you drinking enough water? My sister does not remember. She knows how. What I cannot say I have been searching for. It is taking a lifetime to do this. Every time I think I find myself. I can't see her when I want. Flying.

Thursday, December 22, 2016

Question Mark

I'll hang those toys on the tree. See how birds stay. I'll touch them. Small. I'll sit by the fire. Braid the bread. I'll comb out the tangles from the light chain. Again. Small moon slaying anyone too near. So what if there is still rubble it will never be cleared away from what is lost for good.

Wednesday, December 21, 2016

The Missing Spiderweb

My life will never be the same. I keep thinking. I am so grateful. This dark night so great. All the words. The trees. Birds. Animals. You.

Monday, December 19, 2016

Legend Of The Whistling Custodian

High and low. The tune unrecognized. The sound carrying near and far like the wind among people. Washing down the tiles getting at all the dust.

Saturday, December 17, 2016

Moon Ice Hours Ago

Moon's ice everywhere In heavy branches Whole trees on the ground full clouds busy traveling the Willamette See how wrecked the streets where's home under the trees killer icicles falling the residents leave just in time gulping strong coffee that was hours ago They arrive without shoes coats hats too many bags containing nothing hours went by

Friday, December 16, 2016

Funny How I Knew That

Dance Of The Custodians Part One Three things will become your dream: Imagination, coincidence consciousness Leading you to the secret Passageway out into the fresh air its pines and plantings So tell me to stay away from the dream as if I could breathe water Icicles everywhere hanging and belonging If you ask a question expect an answer just not right away plus factor-in movement and change before the next morning which is really near midnight

Thursday, December 15, 2016

Dance Of The Spiderwebs

Their frozen feet The icy storm Branches breaking off Sliding agreements into each other So remember Now live See what you started Be glad It isn't quite midnight Yet

Tuesday, December 13, 2016

Midnight Feast

Feast, custodians feast. Tomorrow is here tonight will be the new morning. Walk, custodians. Walk it off. Soon will be midnight all the buildings hushed.

Saturday, December 10, 2016

Academia For Two

It was made of maple and very strong. One point was deducted that was all. The ending of the term should've been celebrated not with them craving so much more. Guitars and all as an explanation but that would diminish Addison's genius flaw Halley's perfection.

Wednesday, December 7, 2016

Dial M For Mezzanine

You have to go around tonight on your run just watch out for the wax it has not dried all the way. Give it another fifteen minutes.

Tuesday, December 6, 2016

Stop At The Stairs

The corners looked good. I saw that he stole my gloves. They ask each other and use soft voices. The music a machine the trade-off somewhat chaotic. Not quite awake and not quite sleeping. The lake was always there. Sometimes bothering. So cold. Swimming only an idea most times.

Sunday, December 4, 2016

French Prairie Summer

The oak grove is still there but have the trees shrunk after thirty years eight steps from my tent to the canvas one up on a platform the propane stove I started each morning at three-thirty in St. Paul watching and waiting for the field burn now that the tenders of the open land the beaver the water in the impossibly wide valley stopped by new houses where the field school had their dig and I was the cook who sliced her fingers--seventeen stitches on a Crisco can. John McKay you are dead. What do I owe you and the St. Paul summer back then of course I fell in love with the Champoeg wheat those years ago when I fell to my knees retching.

Saturday, December 3, 2016

Leave It By The Closet

She knew she was becoming neurotic again. Who in their right mind would pin together a faulty cushion in one of the offices with her protest safety pins? Not anyone else nobody she knew plus that telltale drop of blood when she messed up and pushed too much bossy with the pin, leaving behind her D.N.A. in the middle of the night on some lonely corridor more commonly known as the mezzanine. Yes, her favorite band was somehow managing to play after forty years and tour remembering aloud their oh so lucky break with Ray Manzarek.

Friday, December 2, 2016

Saga Of The Missing Door Stop

Where, why and how. Those three essential philosophies. Without them it was just another graveyard shift just more polish inside the elevator plus all those pencil shavings to return to. Careful where you step there's more to it how to go around.

Wednesday, November 30, 2016

Mystery Of The Mean Custodian And The Leathery Oak Leaves

There were four dog beds plus a few blankets lots of fur crumbs of dry feed and leg bones still with meat on them. Could you please restrain your little hog I mean dog the mean custodian said into the air.

Tuesday, November 29, 2016

There Was Once

Blue hides behind rain behind green. It looked more and more like monsters. The squares changed places. They were open fields until the sun. The same color looked different. Depending on what else is alive. See how weaving happens.

Saturday, November 26, 2016

Blink Twice For No

Say it isn't so. The countryside is carrying me on down the road to what is the same point we started with years ago I counted steps now it is miles or blocks to where they've poisoned more than what we knew people are opening their eyes rinsing away the gas toxic mess

Friday, November 25, 2016

Touch Of Time

What you spent your whole life living floating in the blue green because of you so there take my life as thanks for everything you've studied lived and read because of you I am in the pages seeing beyond words

Wednesday, November 23, 2016

Just About Now

Some day she, too, would have it all. A little cabin by the creek, him fishing. The construction would take eons and that would be the fun of it, something to tell the others about along down the road just about now.

Tuesday, November 22, 2016

The Odd Moment

The evenings were usually upside down. For instance when it was night the Pirates called it morning as in good morning and when it was morning dawn weighing in beds calling nostalgia for the buildings their construction then it was goodnight. I meant to say custodians.

Monday, November 21, 2016

Sunday, November 20, 2016

The Haunted Manuscript

The words came alive when the custodian turned out the lights rounded the corners in the old cement and asbestos building housing libraries, labs, offices, and studios. The words piled up onto floors and next to the vents. They scurried along to the dead basin looking for water. There they died and starved some of them too young to care for themselves. Mostly they became plans for dwellings complete with parking lots and energy grids. Having been put to the test of time, the words hatched plans.

Saturday, November 19, 2016

The Dusty Vent

It turned into a minor neurosis: ignoring the vent in the face of another write-up. Some take the risk and others vacuum. I was still undecided about which way to go. This will define me, I thought to myself and my thoughts became Lawrence Hall. All those round corners. The insanity of the Mezzanine. What doesn't kill you they say the saying goes.

Friday, November 18, 2016

Corner Confidential

Dust bunnies have nothing on corners. Always more to it than the edge. He called it sand on the stairwell. Actually, it was lots of spiderwebs. We all hope for the best in this disaster. The floors are quick to dry. When this happens, it is like the Great Basin. It is so beautiful and smooth and empty.

Thursday, November 17, 2016

Wednesday, November 16, 2016

Forgotten Moonrise

When I remembered to look to open it was already way up high in the clouds against the midnight morning with a circle more belonging to the pine tree than to Josef Albers.

Monday, November 14, 2016

Moonface Moon

The best moon face moon in a lifetime of Sy (Synthesis) and all that WT (Waiting) in addition to lots of G (gyrations). The formulae is quite unbalanced. Each side quite unequal and off.

Sunday, November 13, 2016

Now Any

Now any encounter with them is so familiar. Their slow gathering. How they seem to bump into things while we decided. The sound is there no matter how I ignore it. It is the sound of love that is surprising and constant so what if you are not quite in agreement? Paste me there and I will stay impossible. Peel me off the wall and I am still a poster advertising know-how. Crumple me up then swallow. That's how you consume me.

Saturday, November 12, 2016

Puzzle Me

The rubble carried no answers no Da Vinci code even when put back together it still looked blasted apart of something solid no matter how many tears were shed over all the others they weren't coming back soft vowels ending their names. I wanted them and only them.

Thursday, November 10, 2016

Only An Idea

After the riots, the ideas came. Most were good ones, most were realized long ago but forgotten in the new day. I'll ask my hippy father if he happens to remember kindness, sharing, and love. Those powers. That said, what could possibly be in my account what is due now?

Tuesday, November 8, 2016

De Enver

The mountains were far off countries independent Municipalities each kingdom so settled full of rocks and weeds. Let's go there soon have a picnic I'm bringing refreshments.

Monday, November 7, 2016

You Look So Familiar

Arm and leg Fingers and chin Don't I know you by now? From scratching and itching Two separate countries changing their minds again.

Sunday, November 6, 2016

Smart Books

Their smartness broke apart my mindlessness. I got some smart books and started reading soon dreaming my dreams the way it always happens when we go at it too quickly without some sort of negotiation about coming up for air.

Saturday, November 5, 2016

Mood 4

There wasn't a mood for it. There wasn't a time for it except sub-urban. The feeling of inexplicable loss inside the old grange-- what used to be a steep pass-- now grey, now endless traffic.

Thursday, November 3, 2016

Late Afternoon Question

I asked my birthday a question that's post meridiem to me or you. That's the afternoon so formal and such. There's no going backwards but for the time change announced more than once to Group One at work like it was an original discovery that one hour life changing.

Tuesday, November 1, 2016

Strawberry Life

I had to plant bulbs, too out in front of the apartments. Half-off mums, little violas their faces like my own trying too hard to love getting tossed along with arugula into a green salad.

Monday, October 31, 2016

Smooth Sound

I would know that smooth sound anywhere. I would know its being. After delivering my coffin to its final resting place I roam freely take in the sights: ship with all rats gone the town with citizens all asleep the incessant whirling of the pinwheels.

Sunday, October 30, 2016


You can drink the planet and all its riches. Call it water and then something else. You can drink into your life. See it become you pausing near the edge of the blackberries the hawthorns.

Thursday, October 27, 2016

Strawberry Runners

Fall runners in the barley hulls. A lot like love. Stems and roots looking for land. I think of him and smile often. To myself. About the scope of things. Better than all that frowning in person. That ship sailed without me.

Tuesday, October 25, 2016

Broken Agreement, Shattered Lives

Borage, didn't we have an agreement Thought we worked out details before my big trip back East Now it looks as if you're breaking what was decided by me I mean by us when it was we

Monday, October 24, 2016

To A Leaf

It wasn't like this when I had to watch the drain after the fallen were removed just right after Halloween. Needles when the time usually changes at the edge. Get in there and clean.

Eugene Town

The town did not stand in my way. The town wanted the same arrangement. Plus, all the memories I had to ponder. They were halfway buried. Buried with the town. Yes, I said to the town.

Saturday, October 22, 2016

Driving Away

This is what I'm good at before light. World shaped along these lines. What is real becoming otherwise.

Thursday, October 20, 2016


You are not mine to begin with missing your bees even before venturing back to the Plateau's outer reaches.

Wednesday, October 19, 2016


Honey save some for the jar we need to feed the others with. You go first no you go first. Your talk is setting all the bees abuzz.

Tuesday, October 18, 2016


The lover hummed bees before stinging settling the swarm in his throat before circling. The lover stayed away as long as he could. This is all the information available. Please go. Please go tell the lover where.

Dusty Town

O dusty town your particles quite alive as I dig myself out heavy buildings along the road have settled are disappearing their people describing something else entirely.

Monday, October 17, 2016

Green And Yellow

On my way I lost it whatever I thought it was that I found up against the mount. Their ways were strange. All those echoing calls. My heart ripping itself two valleys at once. Just say the word. All shrieking aside. Then we'll see if pronouncing it the same stays true.

Sunday, October 16, 2016

The Haunted Hotel

Miss Old Timey please pass the casket resting on the shelf turned into something useful. Please purchase a lot of those enameled mugs because don't you see we're sinking so close to the marsh no matter where you swim you will be in the same place There is no safe inlet no peaceful anything anyone waiting but only the hour begging for more.

Saturday, October 15, 2016

The Not Perfect Day

The not perfect day its recipe for soup salty tears turned up to a boil then frozen convenient for the trip to the reservation where storms are brewing This time Hero will not be here to save the day with his guns slung and slinging This time will be just a lot of checking the weather seeing if there is a pulse a secret a charm a chant helping locate the door and its persistent knocking

Friday, October 14, 2016


Hospital flowers growing along the highway Your surgery has spared my heart La Grande alleys never seemed so full of leaves As now the day a dream I had for months Do I languish here as usual or do I step Sideways into the other boxes of yes We learned the symbols and danced the dances I could not tell you the pattern of the steps Out to Imbler and then the rushing of squirrels Climbing backwards and upside down

Thursday, October 13, 2016

The Vanishing

The vanishing is known above all else. The time-lapsed roses opening now and they accelerate accelerate trying to be as hardy as the small wild ones.

Wednesday, October 12, 2016

Dry Drunk

Missoula not caring whether I lived or died. The feeling its old stale coffee smell in a little cupboard where a paper bag served as the trash. I remember Dickinson Street and the unpaved part reaching up the flank of Mt. Jumbo where our landlord lived. Our house still there but the fence I used to sit on is gone. My white halter top borrowed from Mom is gone, our horse, Bree, gone now I look and see the trouble she got herself into that girl drunk even when dry.

Tuesday, October 11, 2016

White Space

We were told to look at the white space look for it and say what it is and what goes unsaid but it took too long and people could only see the other stuff that was there anyway so I want to know if this is what you've been seeing all along? Why your head hurts? I didn't walk here but it might as well be true. My knees took a knocking and I went swimming. Will all this bring me closer? Do the years add up to anything, even after surviving? Can this room contain them? Its light and shaded shadows.

Monday, October 10, 2016

Bear Canyon

So many up close turning out to be stones zipping by going against the flow or is it the stream I circled round his grave. The tree does not grow well there. The apples a little ways away taste old-fashioned. It was all for those neatly planted at about ten mile intervals. The tracks follow the water-- the murderous fencing beyond claustrophobic. Polite conversation has all but disappeared. Now everyone is free to speak like candidates and even whispering seems outdated and besides the point

Sunday, October 9, 2016

Watered Down

I do not live there. How could I live in all that water with land floating trash forever. How could I ever think I am different forever? How could I live on land thinking of water? No land is forever. My life floating different. The sunken feeling that nobody is rushing to the rescue. It is me who is rescuing, who is organized into helping. I got the wrong version of Song Of Myself. Thought I had the right ISBN but no, that wasn't it. I try to understand to feel the long lines. They reach the raft. They dangle over the cliff where I wait warmed by swallows by bees. Some I can catch others are snapping and whipping in the breezes. I want them all but I only have myself, my two hands or so I am thinking, one washing the other off.

Saturday, October 8, 2016

Into The Land Of Jealous

Where I salute its flag Crying into my cafeteria salad I know nobody but the cashier Only my face so familiar Friendly like a tourist My boots too new for dusting All the spider webs I see in corners Their little weavers small Bundles of laundry dried tears Histories dying to be spoken Taking so long to get there Not like on the map just a hop And I'll have nothing To cover myself my envy Behind cotton blends Once there it will be usual Quaint cabins to sit in Corridors for pacing Losing any measure starting As regular with a beat

Friday, October 7, 2016

New Thought, Old Day

Gaze into my mind and you will see rain and more oaks with Doug firs dripping dank and gloomy but the good kind of gloom, the cool sanctuary breathing.

Thursday, October 6, 2016

Short Life, Long Dream

Above the town above the dreaming Am I dreaming further or just in a dream where I play a minor role? Patient. Killing spiders. Why Would they want to hang out Spending their lives In Architecture & Allied Arts To begin with. Plus all the pizza Boxes and drab entryways.

Wednesday, October 5, 2016

(Some Have) Imaginations

The story was clear to some, but not all. Sheer willpower helped her stay awake for work. Green tea with honey? That was supposed to be good for anything. Now she was about to commit a crime. It was only a leaky ceiling. And that season barely mentioned, but so obvious, well, she was asked if she wanted to buy bullets at the store, at the counter.

Tuesday, October 4, 2016

The Treacherous Wheat

My gaze hears mumbling in the wheated rounds and all of Grass Valley. What could cause this worry about--? Fill in the blank. What is changing? Was there really a summer? I remember extreme heat and the jay returning with its friend. But other than that--? This is another night of corridors. Hear them echoing the groaning of the cart.

Monday, October 3, 2016

Oma Mit Tante Fransiska

They were not killed by the bomb but are walking out of the dusty rubble. My eyes carrying them into the present where I watch them grow old and happy not young and killed. You know the story and how I can't let go of it and them and telling. Not like in real life where this is not possible.

Saturday, October 1, 2016

Moonscape Children

I listened to hear what they were saying. I heard the voices of the moon children in all that silence. High scape and low scape. What struck me was not their time playing. That was in between. What struck me was nothing. Maybe a random volley ball. Actually, two softballs I failed to catch even though I was quite ready given all indications by readying my position with the mitt held straight in front of my face.

Friday, September 30, 2016

Lava Dream: Collapse

The rubble looked light and fluffy what it really was was a ton of bricks without that shape and color. Even dust would be heavy if there is enough of it. Why this was heaped onto the lives of people could only be answered by would only be told by should be mentioned by every person still breathing.

Thursday, September 29, 2016

Lava Dream: The Crush

She was half alive. Half were gone. I see them in the faces. Family strangers. The volcanoes call. Their icy tips. Safe foundations. Anything can grow with a little water. Welcome to the planet. Please behave. She was not crushed. Sage smells strongest. I ask her when life will end. She thinks asking is so ridiculous. But I did not say a word.

Sunday, September 25, 2016

Day Of Fall

It lasted one day but I remember fall as cool and dripping in the dim time standing. How could things show up as a second summer in the making. Hear this. Weep no more. Only swimming in tomatoes, squash, and all that kale.

Saturday, September 24, 2016

Roman Numeral

The sky is honey sieved through grey blankets. My longing for fall is starting with a perfect moon slicing everything in half-- plums, butter, flour. Sun.

Thursday, September 22, 2016

Bo And Nat

Painted thin with one hair Dipped in egg tempra Their wild upside down world Showed me my mind. Boris and Natasha Glowing. Would I ever understand My second parents? The plot Was always no. But I was watching.

Wednesday, September 21, 2016

Could Not Hurt

She was past all that It didn't matter So long ago Trees grew so much larger Still she wondered How it would've been If she had not visited So much She was the one to know them so well Their leafy heights Their exposed roots knuckling the walkway and brushing away twigs

Monday, September 19, 2016

False Front

They told her Hinten Lyceum, forne Museum! about her hair how she should be wearing it pinned up. They told her she has a difficult time making decisions. They told her she looks nothing like the photo. They gave her photos of what was there before the rubble. Uebelhoer Gaertnerei total und voellig Zerstoert. She showed these to me placing them where I usually eat.

To Day

Right around sweep over the vale bright with outlines we're hopeful but sweating and too late getting the eggs. "When I am old what will I be like?" Just this nagging feeling I should be thinking more feeling more like myself.

Saturday, September 17, 2016

Sweet Vortex, Darling Tree Of Mystery

Sweep me away even under the rug with your spider web breath bleached pavement song. Clear cuts rising like towers. Sutherlin a.m. coastal drape thick now fall breaking through crackling in the no burn zone.

Small Talk

The moon isn't talking but dropping down the rest of the horizon. The noisy spiders and their webs. The abandoned apple trees at the for sale property waiting for light to touch them. The small sleep just as refreshing. In six hours the task will be easy.

Wednesday, September 14, 2016

Kiss Of The Spider Web

Noisy impatience wrapping ideas into little bundles hiding a larger view out of the buildings once larger than the trees out front their needles their leaves inviting the dead spiders into death hear them knocking dead knuckles against the glass

Monday, September 12, 2016

Close Call

The queen takes pictures of the sun. She takes images of what they said, reviewing the way they talked about the road, how it is easy to find, difficult to leave after the turn heading out of town. But go there and don't stay away too long. The subject is closing, now remembering them and others. Look here.

Sunday, September 11, 2016

Return Of The Queen

Our endless waiting has ended, Just in time for the grapes, after dealing with the pears and all the makings for a cake. We use our heads to figure out all that is passing us by, plus time. It wasn't like this before. Honeycombs did not seem real. Maybe the facts will show themselves between the likes of these two realms.

Sky Blue, Sky Blue

Oak trees, extra cows. Shy grasses. Deer by the Donner Party memorial. Baking soda for toothpaste. The raspberries are dry and scraggly. Same with the currants. I've watered the strawberries all summer. They are sending out shoots like crazy near the pumpkins. Everywhere is a echo. The bright moon. Splitting.

Friday, September 9, 2016

Stone's Throw Away

Just that far til the half-life moon. I begged myself to stop and look. Will I remember you as well as I remember seeing your name for the first time, fancy.

Thursday, September 8, 2016


The best thing about Nikkia was when he would let us brush his long mane and tail. The deer now bed down close to where his bones would be, that is, if you count the times we killed and buried him when he was still living and only a neurotic obsession in those days, not like now.

Tuesday, September 6, 2016

The Asp At Olympia

Sparta has short roads, its goats are nimble climbers. Sparta has more than its share of sharp stones. Sparta is remembered. We went there the long way, all the way to Sparta.

Saturday, September 3, 2016

Round Town

I was so sad, I told a lie to everyone I could think of-- the signs did not change. I read them backwards, upside down. Meanwhile, I knew all along how much I missed him, tried to do right by him. I doubted all along, only to find that it was just fine and I had not left had not strayed but was hit by lightning late one afternoon in the scrub lands during my mad scrambling.

Thursday, September 1, 2016


I tried staying on but my lips were too alluring when I was much younger, my hair left unbraided and tangled, moss and flowers, this was suspicious. With my pahoa, I could subsist. I look at the beards of the supervisors-- what are they hiding under their slick mustaches? Is is cooked, or is it raw? What was the story of today's new night.

Wednesday, August 31, 2016

Other Than That

Other than that things are going just fine except for my apology to nobody. The pressure is on to remember the places inside these changes. Yes, I remain flexible and open. The crowd stops when the music stops. One of the loudest for its size.

Tuesday, August 30, 2016

Circadian Membership

To join, just sign here On the dotted line Inside the old part The part which is bones And flowers with inky stains. You'll never wake up, fully, But do your best, and save The next for last, lovingly.

Monday, August 29, 2016

Letter From Circadia

My letter will arrive in six hours. It will tell of the edge of the forest. I will be there with my hands, washing them, how the dawn leaves without me, but I will run to catch up, just like in the middle if this dream, time will stand still. I have already been cutting the lavender, it is used a lot in these situations.

Sunday, August 28, 2016

Many Times Gone

I've re-potted her asparagus fern. The huge pot too small to contain all the roots, they're spilling and reaching-- hardened, yet still living, clutching themselves after breaking out of their plastic container where they've lived on air for years. Water is on TV. Oregon rivers and the ocean.

Saturday, August 27, 2016

Scorpio Over Roseburg

The sky is an open book inside the locked library of stars. Scorpio bakes its potatoes over Roseburg. There are pears galore, upside down light bulbs in the trees out back. The second one singing with such energy in the deer bedroom. Hen's nests but larger, in the stiff grasses where it's closer to Marney's place. We see the ghost fires he set. They were sudden, during the day. I saw his back through the black edges of the low flames as if he was only playing.

Friday, August 26, 2016

Times Were

The problem was that the thing became another sort of distraction, in the mezzanine, it meant three mezzanines, not two, or even one. Grain, cattle, babies all holding on to the present day. I could count them on one hand. Did they even miss me? Was the mezzanine the prime spot, as in destination, say, the next Aspen or Jackson Hole?

Wednesday, August 24, 2016


That and the dog house. Glad of the opportunities here, take the fact that you could let go of a ping pong ball from the Atrium, releasing it from so high up into the courtyard seeing if it would break or just watch it, like a game, just bouncing.

When I Was A Custodian

Wait. I am one now and I heard a raccoon chittering. There are so many times I've gone the other way--sometimes behind myself--to stand in the lucid. "It is more than just a job." Although what, is not on the list. You could get written up for not doing one thing. I was going to check it off just now, but have misplaced my chemicals next to Deady Hall. My body likes the night, thinks it's day, still acting on a dime.

Monday, August 22, 2016


So many rocks to crack open. I cannot crack them all, right? Even though some are thunder eggs and some are looking glass machines. That, I made up, see how lazy? Or, is this the real work, working? We only deal with the thin sacks. We don't touch what's thick. There is a strict routine.

Sunday, August 21, 2016

When I Was A Rockhound

I searched in the old leaves, finding Ravens and paper sacks full of opals. I loved the way Idaho claimed me. Before it was only water which called me, now I can truthfully say otherwise.

Saturday, August 20, 2016

These Are Fine Lights

We got the gluten running the vines-- escape the crowds and see me. There are the winds and heels, now carnations. Here is the mail, lots to throw away. Making it new. Watering everything takes an hour, twice a day. Convincing.

Friday, August 19, 2016

Unspoken Hunger

Little by little, the empire lost its hold on my memory. Yes, I saw the rubble through her eyes, breathed in the toxic dust and clonked the bricks together when it was all over. In bright daylight, it shimmers. Nights, with the globe on high, it is easy to wander, tasting my hunger.

Thursday, August 18, 2016

Where I Was Living

Fine, I do believe it. I do remember seeing Grand Mesa and thinking I'd been there before and wasn't even looking for the world's largest flat-topped mountain and skipping ahead decades would find myself startled during napping by a voice calling my name out of the dream time where I was living to go wander overland through the sage.

Wednesday, August 17, 2016

Lobo Was Here

If I knew what to say, I would say it if I only knew what to hear, what is warning. The bells all maroon, the buttercups and breezes. Water runs there, over the meadow. Fall air is dry. The leaves are crackling. I am the mystery, the Eiffel Tower of the woods and mountains, plains and tundra, deserts.

Tuesday, August 16, 2016


Pardners, we're crying bullets over your spoiled, jobless places We're so sorry, we're so sorry for you, rural losers So sorry that we signed away the few wolves to the highest bidder Just signed here to do away with years of push and pull-- As the Feds disappear anything goes The burning forests cry-- eW can magineI anything ereH in our safe ityC Our ensP are sharpened, we are oughT as ailsN

Monday, August 15, 2016

Snow Hole

I always liked the water, even the time I was almost dead, there was that moment, nothing but bubbles as flowers or stars the washing machine on the Lower Fork of the Salmon that was Snow Hole Rapid after I dumped and Tina was waiting. I was not dead but later Tina came closer to knowing everything about me and that the future would hold her silence and me, paddling like mad to get through it.

Sunday, August 14, 2016

Wild Animals I Know

The pancakes turned out too flat, un-American, their activities too spare. Those roses are too bright, full. Her blood. The tea rose only exists because of water. In the grass, my feet are scratched. The moon ruined it, disappearing just before the sunrise. Wouldn't it figure. On down the road.

Saturday, August 13, 2016

Falling Stars

The stars all fall Into the ocean, into rivers And live there blinking Forever. We watch their gentle Swaying to the music Of the water. After seeing one, The next are betrayals. Night is not the place Of greed. That is saved For the glorious day.

Friday, August 12, 2016


"Visions! omens! hallucinations! miracles! ecstasies, gone down the American river!" --Allen Ginsberg, "Howl" See my eyes reaching for clouds. Ears listening long and hard As they pass, drifting just so? Grab them and pull, America! Make it happen, all happening. Remember promising memories?

Thursday, August 11, 2016


I weighed what seemed elusive. It was my intention. This didn't cut it and the tree Was heavy with fruit. I walked Underneath on the fallen ones, Slipping a little, almost sliding. It was a great effort Remaining upright, intact For all the world to see.

Wednesday, August 10, 2016

Coffee, Taken

The same as Kitten, especially the dregs. Life is like that, one minute there's everything to purr for, and the next requiring teeth, claws, growling, and even some hissing. Those deadly human hands, legs, speeding hearts.

Tuesday, August 9, 2016

Kitten's Last Stand

They looked exactly like cats only their smiles wider, brighter. From the sky. There was a lot to eat, chicken cubed just so, just for them. That wasn't enough, they threw up and ate it again. We found Kitten's paw among the rubble of the August lawn. A little disturbed. Wouldn't it figure-- Kitten's last revenge on all that is dog and all that is so wrong with that yapping lifestyle.

Monday, August 8, 2016


Is that mainly an echo? Did trees belong? Why does day seem like night did not Happen? Scrub oak compared with live oak-- slippage, spilling. Do that dance and tell me What I need to know. Even when all the words are forgotten The singing is still there. We found something which told me She has been out and about this whole time.

Saturday, August 6, 2016

Decades (Not)

Those tens of years I thought were so far away-- so many times gone. I will not think about it. At the rest stop, other travelers told of the wildfire in Hamilton, about the evacuations. So many fires in the meantime and so much energy just to put them out, keep them contained. I love my friends and the music in their eyes. I found myself listening more than before.

Friday, August 5, 2016

Time Served

It was so familiar and not so strange-- Things were what I thought all these years And I wasn't imagining but I did imagine more time and there lies the shame. I remembered the rooms, the boulders. The cats, the dogs. The rains and thunder. How to make it last, be more, seem more? Time is ignored a little under the lights. Away from the hysteria, I'm finding out Just what, exactly? Just who? Right? Here is my card. Here is the past moving everything back to its place. Here are my scars, my tubes and clamps. This is my heart, squeezing, squeezing. That's where I go, but I don't know where.

Thursday, August 4, 2016

The Resting Place

Yes, poems are different, twisting and turning Around like nobody's business. But this I guessed at before and there was that one reminder. One song was from the past But the singer was so very young. I thought I heard loneliness call. It came from behind the mountain.

Tuesday, August 2, 2016

Last Step

Two sets of ten and five times Up and down the ladder While I count squats Pushing the sled one way then the other--buckets--45 pounds But don't strain your back-- see if you're fit for sixty seconds At the simulated vacuum machine.

Monday, August 1, 2016


That is a bowling ball? Found at the base of Sweetwater Falls Who knows how long it was rolling around Under the spray until it became perfect. See, someone took it and brought it here. Royal and Fox sure knew how to make typewriters. Apple head dolls under glass. Florence's original switchboard. There's the Operator's chair, her small seat. This is an original painting. These were the first pioneers. Too much sand for a cannery. More a matter of digging in than climbing.

Sunday, July 31, 2016

Shifting Sands

Huckleberries and fat salal. Their forests, their lakes are connected by rolling sky, and we hear the surf sounding so much larger than what we thought.

Friday, July 29, 2016

Almost August

Even though the swale is green mush in places, I walk, switch on the pump. Roses are still alive and the Mirabelles--orange droops. Blackberries out where the jays sit. Bluebirds. Other birds getting to the feeder. I know all the lumps in the dry lawn, blind.

Thursday, July 28, 2016

Round and Round

The day is round. Last night, shadows waited at the back door to the grass, moving, fluttering. The young trees. It was just like her and I thought I saw her sitting there like she always did. It was her. Why do I still refuse to let her in? Would she mess up my life? Is this what is so frightening? Cows breathing in the field, sniffing like wolves. It thought they were deer. The old folks were so weary and freaked last week. This one's going better than expected. Calculate it. What else could happen in ninety degree heat? The garden holds itself, only shares its crackling.

Wednesday, July 27, 2016

Holding Night, Meeting Day

Both arms occupied and which one do I let go into the other? Night is my friend, moon, no shadows around the bouquet. Sound of midnight's promise, long whistles lasting into the past, why write it down? The fruit trees are still so loaded. The shame of waste. The ecstasy. Each moment passing, ticking by.

Tuesday, July 26, 2016

Reindeer Beards

I never heard that much about them but now I know a whole lot more. Tiny houses. That's another thing, entirely, appearing larger than our apartment pressing against the butte, just down a ways from the columns and across from the train if you could go directly but now there's that fence and it is impossible to just make your sweet way straight to the station.

Monday, July 25, 2016

My Crazy Straw

My crazy straw was a Gordian knot twisting towards the sunrise of my life and into the inner circle of my family. Sipping elixirs made from various powders, I was wise to the fact that the shape came undone only with lots of give, lots of loosening. The main problem. Tina thought these were the best presents. I could not disagree. The twists and turns were impossible to follow. Our moves from Missouri, Nome, Schurz, Reno, Missoula, Tettnang, Polson, Roseburg, Sutherlin. Those we left behind kept on living.

Sunday, July 24, 2016

In The Land Of The Crazy Straws

Mine curled round in two loops. Tina got the zig-zag and Corine's was a heart. All were striped and looked like candy. For once, nobody was jealous . The crazy straws made root beer taste like water, that's how long it took to taste something and Tina made hers into a bracelet and then we were chaining ourselves to this newest idea.

Friday, July 22, 2016

More About The Trail

I had bags but now I have a backpack joining the thousands up and down the Butte only a thin screen of blackberries between us at night on their cell phones having conversations We thought it was the radio announcing classical but it is them speaking

Thursday, July 21, 2016

This Summer

My assignments have been lost and what is it like? They wait around the bend in the trail. I will catch up to what happened if it the last thing I do, as blackberries drop off their vines and into my mouth because that's how.

Wednesday, July 20, 2016

A Clue: The Deer

Last summer I was supposed to be doing a bunch of assignments while working in the Depot House. Mostly, I'd find myself staring out the window trying to see the waves in the glass. When would I get around to the work I was supposed to begin? I saw the deer family picking their way down from the bench and onto the lawn. I was inside and still had no clue about how things were going. What were my daydreams there? I cannot recall, not for the life of me.

Tuesday, July 19, 2016

The Falls

The trail went over the bridge and they had to pay a toll to get over it. Once on the river, there was no way to get lost. He walked right up to the edge just like the B.L.M. bosses. I hung back because of my Crocs and how flimsy they are on the undersides, their soles, I mean without trying to be trendy but impossibly so looking back, I could've used more syllables.

Monday, July 18, 2016

At The Ready

Unloading the Mirabelles was not too hard-- their trees so full-- hours staring at the swirl steaming, stirring it up every now and then, scared if it would boil over onto the clean parts of the stove-- while I thought of my parents, so young and always ready to go fishing, camping, and dancing fifty years ago, and now our talking.

Sunday, July 17, 2016

Stranger Not Strange

I remember them because of their parkas, their outlines and postures. Their temples. The way they'd sit on the snow machines, straight ahead, looking right, then left. That was their group. St. Lawrence Island may be just a memory. The dog team harnessed, ready to go. Shumagin prancing, snapping the air then howling at the siren every noontime back when global warming wasn't even an idea. in the Pacific theater. The judge married a couple on the beach, finally, having moved away from the rotting walrus and the flies.

Saturday, July 16, 2016

To Be

The garden is well under way. Great carpets of hay out back in the field. Huge jelly rolls. Houses of no consequence. Plywood and dangling wires. Mountains beginning their climb. All is quiet before checking on the fruit, forgetting, also missing the night, its cool vacancy.

Friday, July 15, 2016

Sub Rosa

Look at the lake, of the world all these thousands of years. Bucket list? A blank. No need to have a list, the bucket so leaky. Does this coincide with life? What else does this match in history?

Thursday, July 14, 2016

Say It

If I could say it I would say it. If I could live it I would tell you. There are some things to say, instead. My only problem was not unique. I didn't have the problem but did not know this until much later. This became something else. The gift was not as I thought. Is it too late?

Tuesday, July 12, 2016

How America Survives

Spare change spent spare change is the rent. The rant spent. Days pass as change held captive in pockets and trigger-happy fingers.

Sunday, July 10, 2016

Taking Matters Into Consideration

You thought it was over there, not over here now people, looking the same against buildings urban squeeze so much like home, the killing corridors blank, with people. You pick them off one by one. Just as you were taught so well to do only the other day didn't they mention the easing back in, reintegrating home and to regular life where you know the rules aren't so clear so you make your own, make them up to be exactly knowing what is true in the combat zone: killing and killed.

Saturday, July 9, 2016

Set Down A Cup Of Tea

Place our spoons next to the honey next to flat July. The fair is crowded and muddy beside the river let me go there. It is costly. We cannot waste a drop.

Friday, July 8, 2016

Said To The Road

We want the road to change showing the world we are the road you are driving on, the path to kill until every one of us will not stand any more injustice, will need to be shot by you and the other cars moving again.

Thursday, July 7, 2016

Missing Link

I could visit the Rattlesnake again, look at wildflowers missed last time and then bless myself in the icy creek, dreaming of our horse and how we tried and tried to tame her. The alternative would be the Coast-- a lot closer, any way you slice it.

Wednesday, July 6, 2016

Winter Is

They say time stands still there. Long enough for memory to thaw. The fruit is ripe. I will need parts of it because I cannot take my favorite tree with me such a long way. They say.

Tuesday, July 5, 2016

That's When

I remembered the thing about how to get rid of it. It had been so long since I had such a rash. I was caught off guard, unprepared for the furious itching it brought on, all because of those leaves of three. They will die down by Autumn. I remember some facts about this situation. Hanging on with my heart has never been the cure. The archaeologists were more practical. They said to ignore the directions on the bottle. Apply it dry and let it soak in. Not a cold shower, but hot as you can possibly stand. Fingernails scrubbing, breaking the skin. Then calamine, calamine!

Monday, July 4, 2016


We loved the town but could not find it underneath all that fur. It was said to be two blocks away past the liquor store and just by the lockers. I knew where it was in my heart. Those spaces between buildings too narrow for anyone or anything else but splinters of lumber and tar paper scraps. The town briefly visited during parades over too soon with too much military dominating Main. Kids tolerating the wait dressed as pioneers and Okies planning their own future killings in line for free ice cream.

Sunday, July 3, 2016

View From Inside

This one had windows looking out over innocent lawns, old grass. An amazing pasture for large personalities. Time stood still there. The call a large triangle last seen dangling from the back of my chuck wagon still ringing out across the county.

Saturday, July 2, 2016

Butterfly Song

Flower told me what to say so I said it and nothing can be taken back now so live your marathon life and tell me what it is like at the finish, if it is cool and green as the others said along the way because they passed that on and I believed them but now just between us two there is something they were describing.

Friday, July 1, 2016

What Was Said

To the flower or I mean about the flower I thought was meant for me, wanted it to be. So maybe it was, afterall, in that dream poetry way that is so pointed. Now it seems it maybe was my mistake, reading into things too much as I tend to do, in the wilderness or at least close where the signage says you are here.

Thursday, June 30, 2016

Wonder How

In the world this could stand just so clearly. The mountain smoldering again but in different places-- wildflowers doing what the butterfly needs singing its song of long ago.

Wednesday, June 29, 2016


It never got that far-- not by far! only close to nothing but enough said. Not much said. This is my point. It was there but it did not occur. Case closed. Question mark. With the bear.

Tuesday, June 28, 2016


The way ahead is unclear but days end and Begin the same as before. There are so many Missing times ahead. That's the way it is. Hanging fog above the swale. Her grave with A small plank on top. Ravens. Time filling What looks blank before the sun soon appearing Just over Mt.Scott from up the Umpqua.

Monday, June 27, 2016


The bear breathed down my neck Embracing me. I could not remember Anything more intimate. Would the bear change his life For me? Highly doubtful. Would mine be different? Highly probable. Everything is changing Set in motion.

Sunday, June 26, 2016


So what now in the strange valley again where I eat what's meandering-- after my journey from The Big-- holding onto a love I could only blink at, I know some have died for less. See this nest: only sticks and grasses, plus mud. Looking so hastily constructed. Where I land. Near the farms.

Saturday, June 25, 2016

Barely Alive

I made it in and out of there Barely alive. I turned into A noodle, almost a stranger. How could I say thank you And not even please in the face Of this most recent transformation Piling on so much make-up.

Friday, June 24, 2016


It is finally raining in the high country and the newly planted lilacs will survive. They were so thirsty and now not to worry because all my watering is getting saturated anyway. I'm glad all the ghosts met each other (and the others) because seeing what's back there is just like you said.

Thursday, June 23, 2016

American Dipper

He is minister of that linear territory. Flashing eyes and extra eyelids. Daring to go underwater. He feasts on nymphs for breakfast then gets eaten by a Dolly Varden at noon. He is always in danger. They say you can only love one landscape one lifetime. How untrue.

Wednesday, June 22, 2016

Bear Awareness

I became aware of bells tinkling, moon thought intruding that even the clouds didn't seem the same clouds as before but now the funny part: whatever happened was going to anyway. The train.

Tuesday, June 21, 2016

My Heathen Holiday

Part One. The Bear's Paw His grip was strong. I didn't know how his cave could be so warm and inviting. The lavender would not say. Another gripe: time with a capital T. Isn't this the case? My own cage was rattling. I could hardly remember it clearly. Point it out I thought. Make it stay. Remember when. Part Two. The Strawberry Moon It got divided up. After the dogs ran loose. It came to be. Nobody could see it. It got that far. Put it away now that you've used it been it said it. Learn its lumbering talk.

Monday, June 20, 2016

They Thought They Were In Europe

Today the contrast is stark. On one side cows in the river or on the other side. Cows instead of fish. At a distance. There's the blown-out crater of a volcano. Sheep. Hobo Lake. Grass hummocks. Sticky geranium. The river ran slightly uphill. Rattlesnake canyon. See what was down here. Because to be hard of hearing means hearing the rustling and that's our post-industrial landscape. The one with us and our trash.

Sunday, June 19, 2016

Living (In Cougar Country)

The old marsh is a guideline-- follow it to firecracker, yarrow, willow, cottonwood. In cougar country (firecracker, yarrow) be alert when sitting quietly or stopping to rest. Be especially alert at dawn and dusk (the path). Because people take leave of their senses even following these guidelines. You can further your risk (how far do we need to go?) your dog at home (a guideline). Keep children close. Teach them to be cautious at dusk (the old marsh) to be cautious at dawn (could you tell me?) to be especially alert at dawn and dusk. Stay calm and stand your ground (what you just said). Maintain direct eye contact. Pick up any children but do so without bending back. Slowly away. Never turn your voice back. If the cougar seems aggressive raise your arms making yourself look larger just by clapping. Remember not to run.

Saturday, June 18, 2016

More Taming

I went back to where I buried my grief. The place looked vacant but that was because she had changed into the cawing and I didn't want to get on with life during the day anymore. There were plans. Supposing the cawing could stop in time. What would it say? Something tame. Telling. Still wild and beyond that. She needed more taming about the road.

Friday, June 17, 2016

Will The Future

Will the future be a fight remembering love her less the road so hard so fast her fur matching nothing special only shadows between the lavender by the birdbath seeming asleep on top the cedar chips waiting to kill something feathery

Thursday, June 16, 2016


She taught us well So well that I did not know Anything but her fur Coal black Rainbow oil Loved the comforter In the art room Of course All those feathers Her nest I won't miss her. I am her now. I will kill many mice Leaving Offering up Their insides

Wednesday, June 15, 2016

Fang Den Hut

The rules don't seem to change But if you see the golden hat everything must stop fingernails growing fangs incredible lengths stacks Waving around in front Of your face

Tuesday, June 14, 2016

What Luck

They accepted it slightly. Their eyes were unchanging. Moon hiding behind rain. It didn't seem about time. We were folding. Being fooled. What luck. What swindlers.

Monday, June 13, 2016


All my baskets into one egg. Light brighter by half. Ponderosa. Watching. Done deal. Meadow. This side is clear. The glow does relate. A handle. A bucket. Listing. The other.

Sunday, June 12, 2016

Peach Beach

Half moon half beach half lozenge. Stones broken small loaves of moon blue and caramel. Gulls' voices settling down. Cherries. Full trees. The orchard church. Its small grey steeple. The horses seem blind. The barking continuing on past the crates.

Saturday, June 11, 2016

Paper, Metal

The tent knows the wind Better smooth stones Osprey eggs peaches ready Already lasting so long. I'm ready can't wait for Dreaming. Biggs dreaming. Everything in its exact spot I gave them paper. Metal.

Friday, June 10, 2016

Reverie Rustical

Smooth shimmer of trees. My escape continung strange. Old person. Me. I climbed reaching the fruit. In my dream I began too late just perfectly near. Sideways slipping near the place. All standing forgotten. Forward.

Thursday, June 9, 2016

Truth River

Sun and Moon. Rain hiding day. Chances are slim but still. Revolving evens things out. It isn't her fault. Suddenly. But the drama continuing tinting clouds and their clowns.

Wednesday, June 8, 2016

Dismantling Hers

Plain to see. Work needs doing. A wrench. A hatchet. Broom. What comes apart. A little grease. I've assembled rags taken apart the motor still that ticking telling me. Barely hearing.

Tuesday, June 7, 2016

Later Silence

Her later silence did not include Albert. Or did it? That's the part I can't figure out. Was she somehow praying to that tiny boss? I thought about it and came up blank as per usual. Maybe fifty times. Look here, can't I convince her to spill the beans or at least share a few recipes?

Monday, June 6, 2016

Correspondence Course

Sun. Days. Space. Cat. A thin washing machine having a chat. Waiting to tell it like it is. d Don't stop. a messy love story.

Sunday, June 5, 2016

Like Wow

So that's what Mom's Hootenanny! Was all about Right next to Ian and Silvia tile table too heavy to ship to Nome where we waited for the war to end with the others at Woodstock a bridge over the troubled Kusitrin teaching children well.

Saturday, June 4, 2016


Then a melody about sunset and key jangling Lots of shade and trees and fountains Walking of course with architecture Gorgeous Vienna I'll borrow everything. Smoke and crap following. Bicycles Flowers black and sighing. La la.

Friday, June 3, 2016

River Dog

People at the butte have their own problems. Water was mentioned but also heat. Scattering birds chasing. Labrador retriever. Oh Daisy I am never forgetting you. Luckiamute. Our rocks and that bear bothering you so. Clay we used before meeting. Stories of the leash unhooking during all that swimming.

Thursday, June 2, 2016


Mongolia was great but home greater. My tigers didn't make it into the soup. We walked alongside them for a great while. Paying. Just thinking of the wine made us drunk with midnight joy after a long day strolling along in different cities no longer part of the crowd. I'm saving up my money. I am lying. I live better on the phone. Where everything is modern. Please put that back where you found it. My body. Here is where we say goodbye. Until the next scene. Look for something red. That will be my meat. Look for something else. That will be their cave.

Wednesday, June 1, 2016

Newish Worlds

Dancing and singing small in the new ghost town lots to drink before going abroad. Green is the color of my love's dress. The lights never looking so lonely so great the pageantry. They screamed when they spoke. The men were pawing at their bodies. They cried with heartbroken longing. I miss them. Their spell already.

Monday, May 30, 2016

Veterans Of An Unseen War

Something is wrong with the machine. I was awake for four hours. It woke me up. Flowers make it worse. So sleepy this morning. The glittering buildings. I want you to sleep honey. We hear babies. All other things come into mind. I've got some eye problems too. Still empty spots. Big area. Seeing color. Webs. Indications. Nothing they can do. Right. Fairly common among people. We can't go at all. They're going to start pretty soon.

Sunday, May 29, 2016

There's Also Muscular

Q's plan had me up against some roadblocks. Looking for detours. I made it just in time to the brightly lit field where I was shot. This time was less painless. It was only my life. Seeing another issue on up ahead. Protein. Muscular wanted something I could never deliver. I asked the flowers. They nodded. Just nodding.

Saturday, May 28, 2016

Q Knocking

I refuse. My mind a tangled afterthought. Walking away from Q and to my destiny. Castles in the air. Ice cream. Keys to the roadster. No regrets and no promises. There is sunshine maybe clouds just for fun. The cave will wait but for now freedom is expecting me although I didn't exactly save the invitation.

Friday, May 27, 2016

The Day I Used Q

Nobody killed me I only used it once plus it was in a title not especially counting towards the body of anything any moment. There are some using it all the time something fancy is speaking through the mask dusty on the shelf of the impossible ghost town.

Thursday, May 26, 2016

Please Kill Me If I Ever Say Quotidian

If I even use its bright onion glow. The stairs up to the mountain. Impressive! Why do I hate it? Why do I hate that word. Pray to it if you hear it. Life is a numbers game quite enough thank you. Somewhere I believe in but please don't place it in my mouth anywhere else on the shelf. There's no room for another knick-knack littering up the place where dumb poets are living. Please kill me. Kill me now. Crowding my good title.

Wednesday, May 25, 2016

Two Years Ago

There was something strange about the lava returning to its state of flowing again from the flank. Almost as if two years ago were returning to become before two years ago and then turning into two years ago again.

Tuesday, May 24, 2016

Barstow Half-life

We sipped and supped and dined on sand in Barstow.Barstow's half empty cup so full so sick she was so ill and I said no he practices his keyboards every evening there will be no room for you and your cancer recovery--waiting in Barstow waiting for good. Let us visit now. Let us gaze at the river. There is a rose garden. It is full. I promise you can stay as long as you'd like. Even Dad. Just say the word or don't say it. Looking past the junk. Seeing through the debris. Walking around and over and across. Good at avoiding the dangerous thorns.

Monday, May 23, 2016


Ibe trgeubfg U renenbered were ================ said the robot. Said my memory. Patchy in places. Askew. The bomb did more damage than I thought. A chair waits in the yard. Out back. A nice lamp lighting up the place. Let us wash off the garlic. Keep away the babies. They will grow and then what do you have? A total takeover. We'll make more space next weekend. That's when you're invited. Although you've invited yourself. Still. Welcoming.

Sunday, May 22, 2016

The Calling

The clock is ticking buildings flimsy collapsible. Waiting calmly through the fires matching each to each. One always going one always there. Let us raise our glasses sipping sweet cider licking away the dew.

Saturday, May 21, 2016

Frosting On The Cake

Himalayan berry blossoms leaning over draping heavy hair arms. Roses gone wild pasting rain back to where it belongs. That tree. Love for those trees. Their bark. Useful. Magnifying.

Thursday, May 19, 2016

Up Against

Artistic planet, o over-arching train-- downtown. Seeing Jay. Wrapping around. Calling. Magnetic knob-- o butte. Butte air a violin sweetly playing questions. So early.

Tuesday, May 17, 2016

Moving Is Home To Me

We finally move Into the city Finally see the streets The air ground level. All I knew before. Ravens and their cousins. Tall grasses jotting my Number. Inside it's strange And dark. Welcome to the cave. Depositing. What keeps well?

Monday, May 16, 2016

The Meeting

Coffee dripping. Life cleaning Up. Moving. This time to the foot Of the butte. The smaller one. It once Was a grassy lump. Trees crowd the place. The train sits beside. Noise running away. (Now we'll have) enough money to eat What curiosity left. Already meeting us there.

Sunday, May 15, 2016

Standing By

May rain for the garden. Split between drops. Soaking chances for the milkweed I planted yesterday. Sounding strange. Planting. Milk. Weed. For the butter. Flies. Garden. At the butte. My.

Saturday, May 14, 2016

Showy Milkweed

The hum stopped just in time for the robot party. I arrived early and stayed late of course. The buzz took me by surprise. It was inside my ear. Attracted to the showy milkweed growing there. Also under the sign.

Friday, May 13, 2016

Most Of It

I get most of it. I mean Understanding. Hummingbirds. How Rosemary is queen no matter what. Also rose and sage. Helping. They wrote about havingitall. Owningitall. What they didn't know is this: Broken elevators are no good. A mysterious noise. Descending.

Thursday, May 12, 2016

How Quickly

They were treated and he had to leave the island. Excruciating pain. The doctor came. I remember when they came back. Eat only a little when you're hungry. He was ready to go. He had it. Two fainted. One had to leave. He had to leave. The girl made it. They really liked the other one. Still missing him. All the other males went. So it's the last four left. A team but not together.

Wednesday, May 11, 2016

Nonpareil Daemmerung

She knew I was there and cried to be let in through the garage door to her food on the cement floor right by her little fake sheepskin. Now it is getting lighter outside geese are flying off a carved wooden handle. The hippy mug off to one side showing a strange map back to then. A glass vase holding dark purple iris and peonies.

Tuesday, May 10, 2016

Like Banks

The river ran beside her hatred. Her hatred of Eugene. She left headaches behind. The land clear the more she traveled away. Eugene couldn't follow her there. Without problems. No erasures. Eugene wanted her back. Again. She made a bargain. A bargain with Eugene. Keep your Grecian promises. Listening to the mountain.

Saturday, May 7, 2016

Never Loved

We never loved the bomb but we learned to hate with a secret hate for it always it took first place priority. It was always the reason. If things got too close too distant. There it was again. The fact of it. So it never really went away. Not quite fully detonated. Exploding. Forever exploding.

Friday, May 6, 2016

Mom Pome Poem

The bomb will always be hers belonging to that day. The bomb will be kept locked in an aftermath that keeps getting added up again and again to see if somehow there was some sort of mistake the rows of the dead lined up for all to see. This was wrong so wrong. Ongoing calculations. Subtracting an art to count on. Plus apples and their trees. Waiting for their fruit. Imagine.

Thursday, May 5, 2016

Written In Mud

In the old home town Long sentences all the rage Two and two together oh how They laugh and laugh and cry Titles all collage. Fashion and fragrance Towels and empty jugs Handles missing flowers Birds borrowing.

Wednesday, May 4, 2016


Eat the white part. Two per day. Rind of honeydew-- castor oil, peppermint oil, lavender oil. After dark Mt. Mazama clay forms a second skin. Doesn't leave a scar. Add postage later.

Tuesday, May 3, 2016

Dada Stupor

I know we are hamburger Chopped meat for the scavengers But why can't we pretend music Will keep things together like eyes Working on the problem will fix Everything rumpled with smoothing. You stand there and I'll be here. What we wear. Gyroscopes. Language. Raspberries like the ruling laws. Gravity holds down the thorns eventually. So many strings attaching. Roots letting go just barely.

Monday, May 2, 2016

That Skimpy Thing

Life is thin. The walk is not the talk at all. My back hunched like a bear. Claws for digging. Grubs are plentiful near the surface this time of year. The taken ingredients. Why are we here looking in the mirror. There are inside beings haunting corners under spiders dust inside cups. The old mirror showing. Walnut shells where nobody ate any. Bone fragment I will not touch my tongue to.

Sunday, May 1, 2016

All Along

The bomb wasn't special. Later there were others with fire. How the past became even stronger. Present disappeared. Going back we couldn't find its separation. Carrying on without us. Never perfect. Never satisfied. Always the same.

Saturday, April 30, 2016

A Matter Of

When they were rescued from the rubble. Half had died underneath. It was a matter of minutes buried hours days. Covered to uncovered. The bombing was a fact nobody disputed. Seeing the crater. Looking at the rubble. Forever marking the air. But what did it mean? What would it do? Handling it always questioning the weeds too many sprouting up trying to taking hold. Too much.

Friday, April 29, 2016


She was never taken away carried Like that. To where and how? Before the show is the best living. Then after isn't really there. Isn't that What they call transformation? Or just More information? See that tree?

Thursday, April 28, 2016


She loves the show Can't wait until the next Episode. I tried watching Too. The plans. The teams. The game. The island. Clowns are the ones laughing In the face of annihilation. Count them. Ninety-nine. How come they hate vegetation And all curling vines? I spent the night flat on my back Trying to figure it all out. Un Tangling it. Jealousy? Too easy. Hate? Too easy. Love? Absurd.

Wednesday, April 27, 2016


The bear disappears into the river becoming something else and there's also the part about Sylvia Plath and her tone which nobody exactly tackles in the open. It is taking shape but maybe too fanciful. There is no cave in the story but you know. I think we're moving into one soon. Out of the cathedral tower (bank). Walking away quickly would be the best way of saying.

Tuesday, April 26, 2016

History's Deepest Secrets

The pioneers dug their own graves. Who left you alone? We undid the gate before the ram could get out. The stones seemed to all have faces. Trees whispered secrets to their vampire helpers. Nome's melting streets. Always thought the Middle Ages too long. Did you come back on your own or were you returned?

Monday, April 25, 2016

So Far

Find out when you will fly and I'll meet you there same tree same time our best so forget any glitches wind will be in our favor we've managed this so far. That's what the night is for. Forgetting takes practice because buildings can often look the same.

Saturday, April 23, 2016

This Is How

This is how I always remember her face fresh away rubble dust desperate looking disappointed and not the crone she has become free from that war except every day calling her sisters discussing details curly shavings from wood soft splinters showing themselves as fingers on hands knobby knuckles not fitting into mouths long ago forgetting about the bodies more about what they did and how it passed. Lots of grandchildren and now they barely visit never asking about it at all. Just as well those days are over busy forgetting.

Friday, April 22, 2016

Thursday, April 21, 2016

Flower House

Flower garden hillside looking into star cups seeing bunches singles their juicyfruit perfume shaded by the oaks by the fir and cedar nowhere and everywhere Lighting up the dimness it is where I live for now until night brings me upwards into doorways too many to count too many to see parking themselves along the dark

Wednesday, April 20, 2016

The Town I Crave

Called Eugene. This is where I am. I find Eugene under the rubble of air and green April wind. How I felt in the green glow that is Hendricks Park much too silent much too still. We saw the wind go up the small canyon. Where we stood there was none. How can it be Eugene continuing past its due date in the gigantic valley. This question is not new. It is so old this story. I could see what the poet was saying about things turning into other things. This has happened only a dozen or so times to me but I can relate standing there empty with nothing helping. The whirling will take leaves and things and tossing them around exactly what he wanted although he wasn't supposed to ask.

Tuesday, April 19, 2016

Community Garden

River on one side Train on the other. Freeway two streets over. There is the moon.

Sunday, April 17, 2016

Not A Lot

There were some but not a lot.
How these changed I couldn't say.
The best stayed behind.
Another country claimed them.
Even past blackberries. Currants.
I've counted. Forgetting to count.

Saturday, April 16, 2016

Sleeping It Off In Skinner City

Fumes of spring
branches heavy
old swale

just driving

brought me past
seriously speaking
to the hawk.

Friday, April 15, 2016

I Would Be Now

at the Warm Pond
stars disappearing
above the water
above my own movements
through friendly phosphorescence
before they too were gone
to work at the dream factory
above and below
surfaces found there.

Thursday, April 14, 2016

Midnight In April

Thirsty plants.
Roots half wet half dry.
The small
street running
under her paws.
dog.  The road is her
life.  Will she fall asleep
during the long drive
back to the large valley.
Wasn't the call
that much wild?

Wednesday, April 13, 2016

April Noon

They spoke of stones
embedded in the landscape
they spoke of tough flowers
their delight.  How will I see

what I know again?  How will
I know what I see
leaning to one side or another
my shadow in the small place
until I move entirely.

Tuesday, April 12, 2016

Shrinking European Values

At the foot of the mountain
They run for their lives
Into the European Union
No way to get there
Screaming into the silence
Next day's tolerant sun
Watching how
make a population

Monday, April 11, 2016

Winter Rubble

New leaves strive in the rite of exchange
take the place of blossoms even if they 
don't bear fruit there are so many flowers
hanging above the cold ground down down
onto the memory of winter's tomb resting
on tomorrow's rooftop   dashing away 

gas the countrymen spray into the pushing crowd
marks where the land       breaks       faces
burning hot       cheeks        eyes        mouths
weeds needing killing.  Pulling.  Before sunset.
Rolling    razor wire   someday we’ll be sitting

at a table remembering  how and saying why.

Saturday, April 9, 2016


The center of town is a drum.
Each road leading to

intermittent images
complete with their imagery.
Aspirin, coffee, cut flowers.  

Friday, April 8, 2016

Their Kids

Are not them.  Their kids are not kidding around
like they did.  You see them more around town.  
Like them.  You have to like them
too maybe.  They were there too
little people.   Is that?  Was it?  

Don't you miss them more
because of them the fact of them?
Searching their faces their fashions.
Where where are they?  Where is the real
them hiding?  The older them.  Calling.

Thursday, April 7, 2016

She Had To Leave

I'll read it soon and answer
how she wants no more war
I'll read the book she speaks
photographs and I'm most interested
in her thoughts her writing voice
so unusual and brave when they sang
about getting out getting out of town.
Rambling.  Folding.

Wednesday, April 6, 2016

Narrative Ring To It

Was it my dream last night or the night before
the one where they told me purple would match better
neon pink out of fashion with what I had on.
Was it my choice all along or did this come in a kit
to put together again and again everything there
that was my dream how it flew away so old.
The women celebrate the cleft and yes why not
it is a cliff I can barely remember at times I am it.
Here it is more than ever before.  Here it is.

Come on they said.  Come on and you'll be that.
Okay I'll be that.  The bells jangling and shivering.