sunrise

afternoon walk

It is kind of sad that humans and their blind hopes are so predictable.

It is dangerous to read too much poetry.

It is easy to get fooled into thinking that things matter.

Saturday morning

Behind my house is a cabin that the camp ground rents out. Just outside my office window runs the drive to it. The cat and I heard something unusual out the window and looked over to see a dude in a tie-died t-shirt longish hair but bald on top walking two happy dogs on leashes. The unusual noise was him negotiating a plastic bag to pick up their poop. I almost leaned out the window to point out that WE ARE IN THE COUNTRY. But didn't.

finally

she balances it all
on the tips of her fingers

it is steadying to be perched
there with the others

none of us see it coming,
the cold blade

she is sliced open,
her deepest desire released

and for a moment, she stumbles

poem from words picked out of Coleridge (and last Friday)

I shrive myself to that magnificent woman
though nothing but a caress passes between our lips

her eyes bless the love, restless and gracious
she hast seen through the midnight hours

gently she removes the mishaps and
kisses us out of perdition

cool humid quiet

a thick fog has settled over the house and valley
I can not see farther than the crab apple
the edges of the barn have faded

it has muted all the morning bird song
but for a lonely cardinal in the pine tree
and an angry crow across the road

I imagine that while I was dreaming restful dreams
it fell from the sky, madly expelled - did not rise up
must have been the lightning strikes in the back woods

in those magic hours of the early morning it rolled over
woke me up long enough to crawl out of dream a few steps
rest in the comforting air, listen for the rain to start

Neil in the sun

capillaries opening, a pink tinge to the surface

secret frictions of form
they broke against my knees
trumping an entire culture
slipped up my thighs
the long muscles of the arms
a few quivers
calloused hands, a rib cage
then a pulse
the backs of the knees
a breathless moan
the small of the back
unbearable
the length of the spine

found a shiny tone

found a shiny tone in the woods
managed to swallow it
but it caught in my throat

it has been gradually melting
rivulets slowly sliding over the voice
I am no longer afraid to have

smooth and cold in the palm, they are

last Saturday
I came home with three rocks in my pocket
built a wee cairn for the reclining Ganesh
whose gentle pose flirts with me

this evening
the cairn fell over while I
was banging my heel on the
desk top in time with the music

I carefully rebuilt

inestimable fortune

each time my friend and I
get together, at least once
I will be reduced to gasping
laughter with tears

that game you started

time slowed
I watched
my fingers
in your palm
caught, not catching
the rock

pleasant day

hot sand
bare feet
shady patch
thrown stones
strong waves
wet feet
rocks underfoot
warm sun
wet knees
hiked skirt
distant boat
incoming tide
wet underpants
nice walk

some found art at Huntington Beach