snails are rare here they were everywhere in southern california especially after a good rain they'd exit flower beds and rock gardens meet up on the sidewalk to discuss the imminent end of the world here it is slugs banana, leopard, dark black ones like oozing wet chocolate caramels i find a snail on the driveway solitary carrying his refuge his defenses on his back or maybe his burden is light he takes a trip to the grass just in case the robins are interested in entertaining a guest at breakfast i look for him later but I do not see him a trail of glistening nail snot he has taken his house and moved on without so much as a "for sale" sign
Tag: writer
damage (20220412)
this fir tree grew
as twins
two trunks in the soft earth
on the slope
one has fallen
uprooted by wind
betrayed by loose
wet soil
its roots exposed
the twin remains
still tall
but leaning now
trunk twisted
and cracked
they explain nothing
they explain everything
white noise (20220411)
suppose that the buzzing is not tinnitus earwax neuronal demyelination damaged blood vessels psychosomatic or finger jammed in too far earbuds too tight music too loud suppose it is a bee a hummingbird the susurration of leaves the slippery hiss of sea foam too much of everything all the time but in a good way a baby waking up the whisper of the universe coming into being every time your eyes open
green dream for a wet day (20220410)
i would be moss cling to trees and rocks favor the wet shade whisper to the field mice the woods a hair less wet than the sea and not as salty i would live feather soft breathe in soil and wind and dream about the south side of the tree
putting them down (20220409)
i stand still in one spot an inch of rubber keeps me from sending down roots from my feet the earth waits patient because she will be be here after i am gone whether I have connected to her or not but how much easier it must be to return if our roots have networked the soft loam burrowed past the worms intertwining
snapshot from a walk (20220408)
coming out from the woods
into unexpected sunshine
and mud that stays put
under your boot
atomic ancestors (20220407)
webs collect in the shadowed corner above my head over my desk i try not to disturb them no arachnid artifice no dried up husks offered as proof of services rendered for peaceful coexistence just a little electrical charge a little dust tracked in from outside some dead skin cells the hair from the dogs or maybe the cat who even now tries to claw her way up my leg to settle in my lap or purring against my chest these are atomic ancestors descendants yet unborn related not by dna but by nuclear half-life electron clouds vibrating strings no ashes for me after death for i have spent my life spreading myself generously with every itch scratched and every casual exhalation
overheard in hell (20220406)
the drinking water here tastes flat like someone has removed the caps on the perrier and left them out to lose their carbonation like tiny souls escaping tiny watery graves every night just before you fall asleep water gurgles through a pipe in the wall and jerks you awake just enough so you're sure if you close your eyes this time sleep will come
like a sieve (20220405)
santa claus in a red suit
by the fireplace and the tree
leaping on his back
his face green
the top of his head flat
like it’s been ironed
“how would you like it
if i hit you?”
plunged under water
the taste of chlorine
blood and lilies
the blonde with her shoe laces
tied together
hopping vulnerable
what do you want for christmas
circle everything in the catalog
the body of christ
—
red red robin (20220404)
happy fat wet
he beats his wings
falls into the water
head dipping again
and again
the rain drew his
morning bath
and now there is enough
calm and sunshine
for a short break
From swallowing worms
so much joy in
so much joy from
such a small package
of feather
bone and
song
Words and Feathers 