plasticandy

scabs

Callousness betrays a scar
where once was a point of contact
now grows a buffer, a thickening
around experience, a heavy lens
to divert the light
and bend to a more comprehensable shape
no longer merely what is
but what we want it to have been
or nothing at all

animal magnetism

or, more popsci stuff about the unseen glue that more or less holds it all together…

and…

toxic reflection

time line

a branch that falls lightly
dislodged by a brush of April
pine needles

broken limbs
the treasure of health
and acute disorientation

a wildflower
held in the hand
determined
from the ground up

this day
that has ever passed
receding into
it’s own shadow

outside

outside

there is a stone

the color of the evening sky

it disappears into the night

as the sound of rain

stretches into the future

a bird

a heron is fishing for his dinner

seeing through reflections

brighter than he is

for that sustaining pulse

the heartbeat

that feeds the stomach

the surgeon of the night sky

restores dead things

with the power of sound

Spanish oranges

It is sometimes useful to explore the wreakage of a former life. At first, as if cast adrift by our own inclinations, born out of whatever situation we tend to find ourselves in. A prevailing wind may easily send us off course for years. We may circumnavigate until reaching the point of beginning, and realizing our mistake, after getting our bearings, set off again in what now seems to be the right direction. As the world turns, the sun moves through the galaxy, the galaxy through the universe, and on, and on.

But I was just walking. Small bits of land taken in by the space between my feet. To feel the slightest breeze on my skin and be reminded of movement. Somewhat autonomous. And if I ended up somewhere, all the better.

I don’t believe that it rains in Spain, but then again, I’ve never been. They grow some great oranges, must get some rain, otherwise how so? Hermetically controlled greenhouses? How disillusioning that would be.

totem

unk

portrait of Catman Scrothers

toy

Is that an evil Charlie Brown chasing the Robot Snowmen?

hieroglyphs

critical mass