Thursday, August 31, 2017

Thursday Night

The second time I looked it was still Thursday even though Monday was right in front of my face I could not remember so many bees just a reminder you know listening and how it tangles the promises I see here could you say what I said then I'll know what happened

Wednesday, August 30, 2017

What's With

The poetry she said she meant about the flood how could I dare attempt to keep holding on to that raft when half dead not yet

Tuesday, August 29, 2017


They held their idea then released it into the sky it was inside the best thing going. How did this help anyone else? Maybe so and maybe not. A nightmare as soon over. Then the way seemed clear or else at least enough for the times. Asking again what it was.

Monday, August 28, 2017


It was toxic and by then there were bigger concerns. How about the video game debate? Mindless shooting and we could argue. I need you now after supper. There is an extra chair. You could look over my poems. See if any interest you. You could take them. Adoption. Finally. I look for you each day. What do I find but more looking. Orange dahlias are at the entrance. In back are strawberries and primroses. Isn't this enough now after these years. Are the same problems still there? We go to the garden almost daily. Sunflowers growing so well.

Sunday, August 27, 2017


They said it would be days years before anything cleanup thinking we see what was Where is everyone all the help power lines down I can think about what future where are we now inside the start

Shim Shimmy

The way out is real. Towards Garden Valley. But it is hard to breathe the smoke. So what about another Spiderman movie? Want to go see all the buildings all that climbing? Just over the ridge the Umpqua burns. How about the buckets what they're filled with. Not spiders. Filling them.

Thursday, August 24, 2017

Didn't You Know

Backpack too small. Ideas too large for vaga bonding my way across this life maybe I'll look for you but probably more like see you around.

Wednesday, August 23, 2017

How This All Happens

Right in the middle they say to each other to nobody while climbing up and over mountains wrinkling hours into a smooth day folding itself into itself the sky is darkening I know it won't be forever so why does it seem so Let's run over to the flowers their blossoms need checking maybe they need water in all this heat Let's go see what happened inside the other daydream someone surely recorded why are they crying and where are their cries where birds float where they change the air

Monday, August 21, 2017

What I Know And Don't Know

What the eclipse requires of me: that I stay on track. While. The plane. Emily Dickinson and her house. Past. Passing through. I like the idea standing under a tree and seeing so many. How else could I know its strange glow in the middle of the day dimming on schedule and then not. Everything strange and exciting. My life. The old fence. The bog. The marsh.

Saturday, August 19, 2017

The Cream And The Tartar

Yes, that archaic manifesto so what if there are so many other spices I won't ignore them quite but of course I know what's best for the mix

Friday, August 18, 2017

No Dream But

Waiting for the sky to darken for the sun to be absent like how time is in poetry how it does and it doesn't matter anymore except for those few minutes turning into hours years days sucking up the numbers maybe even scolding the other thoughts away away from here

Wednesday, August 16, 2017

I Left My Heart In SFO

Cris cross humidity thrift store dress in lemon mauve and grey. My poetry addiction running wild. Magazine featuring Missoula and the M and Mt. Jumbo and the lake a scrap of which can be felt so near the Clark Fork.

The Blackberries

Her face in them. The blackberries by the tracks. Train moaning by. Roaring and clicking. Metal. We pick them every year only not here. See the places when we were little they were so big and now look the spaces have grown over by the pears.

Sunday, August 13, 2017

Spider Star

They walk around nothing happening peace is an action an escape to another floor where all life is living Here is my mind then what threat a problem we need to solve so don't bring the war back to the home turf for no other reason than more war from all the wars

Thursday, August 10, 2017

Life Seeming

Their lives and mine seeming so much more than what was at the table this and that and poems talking about what was left out and left away if that is even possible the best will be happening soon feeling inside the rest of time how many months now or will it be days this emptiness is the universe they say it in the books I whisper it inside his ear am I being heard at all

Wednesday, August 9, 2017


Was poetry involved now seen emerging from the rubble-- alcoves and carts flowers and their fruit. I wondered about the table lost under dust mangled discarded but then there are others life can be long too

Tuesday, August 8, 2017

This Is Just To

Say I ate the cookie you didn't miss a thing almost raw and not many raisins anyway it was so cubed it was so moist on the plate with Nordic designs

Monday, August 7, 2017

After All

After all is said and done there is more to be said but what? The life of prose says a lot a lot of the time into the void of poetry that main topic cruel sentences wings of air

A Life Of Prose

She wanted her life to be pure poetry but it was mostly prose mainly sentences and not the fragments she long ed f or the sun so roundish and the moon the same!? well how is it that one could blot out the other if only for a few moments! the nerve those orbiters and fixed objects (sure!) M most of all that space and what was she going to do now that the table from Syria doesn't seem to belong to her at all but must be given up to a twenty-smth. who is very sweet after all with a new house

Thursday, August 3, 2017

Where Is The Cool

Where is the shade where is the cat I gave him water just yesterday and it is dark inside it is so still even with the fan humming to the heat my life is mine so they say looking at the plants in the garden and the flowers

Tuesday, August 1, 2017

That Modern Lover

Songs from his jail his jail of love
about the sun and bonfires
light and darkness and together
plazas where there is lot of hanging
around these are not songs but matches
lighting up the stars ratcheting brilliance
until time is remembers for just what it is

another sort of daydream inside the shell
the curling and curving smoothness
and there you have it another angle