Fern fronds and other spores of thought: A tight ropes walk through the vine foragings' of inky, bird footed words and wild hair, to the high alpine lake, up past the glaciers, in monuments of dust, the liberty bell, and the treaty of ver-psych-out. The rumbling gut of American language, writing, and poetry, with love.
Sunday, September 16, 2012
Once, Twice, Thrice.
Curvy trunk!
Curvy trunk!
Curvy trunk!
morning.
Pine pile.
Red dead.
Cone pieces.
morning.
gentle frog.
Curvy trunk!
Curvy trunk!
Curvy trunk!
morning!
_______________________________________________
Riding out,
sky drools heavy,
the dropped jaws at Calliope's daughter! ( ! )
- a gingerly poet on fire while pours buckets.
Riding out,
pelting parades on rain fly. . .. .. . . .
.... . . . . . . . . . . . ... .. .. . .
. .. . . . .. .. . .. . ..... . .. . . .
dad yawns ;
hopes Sisters gets put out of flame,
& none more go up.
_______________________
meanders Deschutes.
no deer in the feed grass.
flat red earth -
till the mountains.
drops off like hatchet split,
Palina peak
Palina lake.
this all back in Oregon.
Livin' there now.
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