December 2009
13 posts
alive.
in fort sumner, new mexico.
the resting place of billy the kid.
also, the place where lauren’s father owns a giant piece of land with cows roaming all over it.
routine.
i forgot about the ocean. i’m not sure how
i did it but i did. or at least i had.
tonight a love too real to be real sleeps
besides me and through the thin
rattling glass a crash of noise lands routine.
i left but the noise did not. it has never left.
close to lebanon oregon.
a friend of mine has been forgotten. it should not be so. he is lost in a fog that comes heavy and threatens to sit and never leave. the coffee is hot but not thick and as we stand outside of the diner he throws his cigarette into an ashtray sitting on top of a garbage can already filled with water and it hisses and smokes and then is quiet. he says he has been staying in the camper in his...
this kills me.
Middle of the Way I wake in the night, An old ache in the shoulder blades I lie amazed under the trees That creak a little in the dark, The giant trees of the world. I lie on earth the way Flames lie in the woodpile, Or as an imprint, in sperm, of what is to be. I love the earth, and always In its darkness I am a stranger. -Galway Kinnell
people i know.
people i know who have driven
up the west coast, and then
back down again,
with a large black cat.
me.