At, um, elevenish,

a trumpet dumbs up & slows down

that pendulum wiper Swish

(a trying heaven’s muted trumpet)

goes down to ease up at least this town swish

& that conundrum  That one goes down



my vitals are stabler/ I’ll stay more at peace/

I’ll stay here

while  rain & dark run on

on down some


September 22, 2015

For where I’ve furtively gone

To see the sideshow again

A short glass is poured/

His suitcase secured/

Usual confusion loosens all the stops

To go  &  forgo this wait   or aim to

Get out the gate   and on to

The Big Top.




.                          (from half a dozen years ago, but still not a lie)


September 2, 2015

Settling  into  some  rest

I’m sitting on my brother’s back deck

The setting is the Great Northwest

I’m betting I’d best be getting a call in

For the Jaws of Life to  rework   this wreck


August 29, 2015

When my time’s up,

I bet, When it’s time to settle up,

&  I’m front & back  up against the barricade,

I bet, I dare  to gawk and glare

Past the barricade.


I’ll scarcely be scared

Or  ever

The least bit biblically

Humbled by heaven.


I would

I could not  certainly see

The  foals  and fawns there,

Pups,  piglets,

&  All our infants.

Eaglets  soar  there



I would not mind waiting.





“Very little grows on jagged rock                                                                                                                                        Be  Grounded                                                                                                                                                                      Be  crumbled                                                                                                                                                                   So wildflowers will come up                                                                                                                                             Where you are”


The next step/ waiting  maybe wrong

in dark matter

An other thing/ A rung on a dark ladder

A nothing/

As it happens/ Not to happen

The next step/ leg stiff/ Fixing to flex

To a leg lift/

I’m fixing to find/ A gift of intentions

To move me to move/

Given/ Attention enough

To move on/ Away from the station






.                                             from  November 8, 2009


August 19, 2015

To those I try to love, & back.

One ought to honor one of us.

I will brave..then save embraces

before I leave,  For I believe

That by my storing away  more  rare  mercy,

Like a stout man stocks a pantry,

This sustains this suspect man, surely.

Make that..his take  on  “surely”





(from 2009)


August 18, 2015

R:  172 G:  255 B:  167 X:39852 Y:    0 S:    0 Zs:   0 Zp:   0 F:  658 I:    1 ImgVer:

Some once in a team, making way, seem to trust

Insisting on following instructions

Until falling structures sift on to dust.



First  light

I find a way  less haunted;

New shadows show, this too dark room

They’re a grayer gray  than they had wanted.

First  light

I might  tip the stone off this night’s tomb.


First  light

Out  already old

I’ll gaze back at the steps I stood,

Laced  with  my   blood.

But by god’s will, new ground will not be cold.



August 8, 2015

“Is this It?”
I’ve always kept this  away
I’ve sleep    before this one feeling
Can fuck w/me alone  (my eyes on the ceiling)
I’ve  kept  it  at  bay
With whiskey, & the fantasy of Art
I’ve consistently  insisted on
Not being too damn smart
Illusion and delusion and confusion
For a start
It’s not all how you look at it
it’s how  you don’t,
Don’t ask

“Is this It?”


July 28, 2015

One apple, one all too ready for it’s own  fall,

Rolled  towards  him.


Looking up from his hands, all

His distresses, in this Rousseau Tableau of his;

Big leaves, big cats, his own lions;

Lively  definitive  lines,

Staged amidst his hazy distress.

Staged front and neat, his sweet fruit…

His  way for his fall






.                                         (2009 & now)

Iris Murdoch Day

July 15, 2015

Happy Birthday…


from a philosopher:

Love is the difficult realization that something other than oneself is real.

In philosophy if you aren’t moving at a snail’s pace you aren’t moving at all.

Philosophy! Empty thinking by ignorant conceited men who think they can digest without eating!

The cry of equality pulls everyone down.

Happiness is a matter of one’s most ordinary and everyday mode of consciousness being busy and lively and unconcerned with self.

The absolute yearning of one human body for another particular body and its indifference to substitutes is one of life’s major mysteries.

Falling out of love is very enlightening. For a short while you see the world with new eyes.

We can only learn to love by loving.

IRIS MURDOCH – whose birthday we remember on this date.




.                               (thanx to )