…one must be more specific There is beauty in ice sculptures, black leaves, sand granules and zebra mussel shells Someone carved a number into the willow 251 I wonder what it meant and how long it’s become piece of the bark Are they dead and buried, the secret etched inside the tree’s history? I cannot say 251 I had not seen before The biting winter air keeps me alert, alive noticing the minute details I
I could live inside the world of film. A matinee during the week, when the whole world is at work, one of my most favorite things. Moving images. Images so crucial to how my writing process works. Boots and a bag. Simple, basic image right? Not so much, the picture stays with me for weeks, turning over possibilities, the jumping off point. Those boots and that bag left home with me at eighteen, the
I am no different. I am so very different from before. reflect. Oddities of a world, in free fall. Every thing is change. The Vast Landscape. Perspective. Flux. Gotta keep up. So they say. Who are they? Tinnitus. Hush now. Walking away. Different.
She disappeared inside the land of make-believe, filled with Crayola crayons so bright she wore tinted sunglasses I always thought true love was equivalent to good poetry dying today, today, today I‘ve learned how to sleep alone with my dreams A young girl fell in love with art, without perhaps ever knowing his name
I wrote EMBERS AND ASH some years ago, or so. I don’t remember the precise day, I remember the unhappy circumstance. I needed to come home. I was unwell. Truth, I was out of my fucking mind and the only person I wanted, needed and trusted was the one who birthed me. Her ferocious, constant, capable mother-love was the only thing that was not spinning out of control. The one I