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Closer to home a dead opossum was all the night had to offer
That and a cloudy moon
nearly full and sure to brim over into
our REMs and leave us hanging by prehensile tails
Over a moving road
A stationary journey into tomorrow
We  play dead and hope for the best


Fullness of the moon


I can’t sleep when the moon is full
I feel the ocean’s mighty pull

I grasp at things that might not stay
Things the moon might pull away

I keep watch to feel and see
If this is the death of gravity

I feel plates move within the earth
And push down hard for all I’m worth

I’m thankful when the sky turns red
Now I know gravity’s not dead

The sun rises up without a sound
And pushes everything back down

I can’t sleep when the sky is bright
But somehow I think I might

Manic windows


I want my windows to the floor
Framed by heavy velvet drapes
With the longest golden chord
I’d pull it down and face the day just like royalty
And not one bit of dust to rise in the bright sunlight
And not one moonbeam to penetrate and keep me up all night

I want my windows to the floor
My house upon an ocean bluff
So I could taste the sweet salt air
Or just step out and fall when I have had enough

The lipstick letter


Fold up a lipstick letter
Take it to the sea
Let it melt into the ocean
Softly sinking down

Spend a lifetime
Combing beaches
Walking in  the rising tide
And stumbling through the sound

my pop the prop

My pop the prop


When I was a little boy

We would walk to church sometimes

He would break a forked stick

And hold it up in front to keep the cobwebs off

I imagined he was some type of priest

And the cobwebs some kind of sacred smoke

How fortunate to follow


When I was in high school

There was stuff goin’ on

He knew all about it

Not the details

But he knew

And he wrote my paper for me

About Lord Byron

He was happy to do it

 he got an A


When I was in college

There was stuff goin’ on

He knew all about it

Not the details

But he knew

And he said today we are goin’ fishin’

I heard you sneeze earlier

Call in sick

That day was a great gift

From my daddy

Because he knew


How fortunate to follow





from the old blog

i miss my prop


1 bell for a penny 2 bells for a dime 3 bells for free



From the fields

They rang a bell for lunch
They rang a bell for supper
They rang a bell when there was trouble

Once Aunt Inez rang the bell so grandaddy could come see her new dress
Badly done
Badly done Inez
But granddaddy was no Mr Knightly


Morning of the bell

In a dream of gray
I fall out of a cloud
As a rough sketch
Balling myself up
side to side
Ringing out through the watery air of some morning where I belong


Public work

I drove away
In a big yellow truck
Was I driving the sun?
This bright afternoon
That followed me
Like a reptile
sitting in the sun
Smoking cigarettes
Listening to church bells

Dream of the cowhorn