#737 the blinking cursor

gives me first tracks on virgin white snow
a never-ending mountain
lets me choose when to call an end to my day
even allows night riding
and the next day:
new terrain and fresh new tracks
without lift lines
...so why, some days, is riding so hard

#736 pain today

coats of shadows and blood
thinned with lacrimal additive
on my bedroom walls
as i sit in bed
trying to remember
the last words i heard you speak

reality's stains will fade behind the tinted primer of memory
but until then
i absorb pain
in my own walls

#735 a down day

a decaying seed sits in my stomach
my only happy moments are false and fabricated
like the warmth from a fireplace-monitor
happiness is a lie i wake up with
resulting in the let-down of reality
have you ever felt so low you had to hurt your neck
to gaze up at the valley

#734 steep metal roof

our cozy house
(real estate speak for small)
wears a chef's hat
as the snow crystals collect and connect
forming bonds
but then
in one quick WHOOMPH!
the house is stripped of the hat
bald

#733 i am the tree, the forest is me

i'm lost in the general details
between the trees and the forest
detailed generalities have me lost
between the family tree and out-on-the-limb
i love my roots
am my roots
family stories flow through me, sap of my soul

#732 blues master

his voice and his guitar go together like old-time dance partners
knowing when to lead and when to follow
when to push and when to pull
playing to the other's strengths
pushing limits and having fun
he doesn't sing because he has to
he doesn't play guitar because he's told to
the two are like breathing for him
even when he's not singing and playing
he's singing and playing
like the moments between inhalations and exhalations,
it's still breathing

#731 fresh bedsheets

jealousy is a three syllable word that fills my today
i read the words of others
i face their accomplishment
quality, and trophies
jealousy is a noun that lives somewhere inside my ribs
a content prisoner of the me
a single part of speech
jealousy is a kite underwater
its reason for living forgotten
its existence ugly and embarrassing
jealousy is a bedsheet, fresh from the winter dryer
wrapping me in its warmth
lulling me to sleep, one lie for each dream
jealousy is the suit on the colour-blind single man
ridiculous and laughable to all
except the one who chose the suit for handsome
jealousy ends poems
a three syllable word
jealousy

#730 poetry as discipline

waiting for the right letters to drip from fingertips to keyboard keys
the writer curses his routine
questions his competence
and blames distraction
if ideas spawn ideas
why aren't there more of them
he's written infinite poems in his head and in his bed
but putting them to paper or screen
always seems like bad timing
and so they sit
dying
in his head and in his bead
unwritten and unshared
rotting

#729 a hole in my pocket

i'm living my life for other people

shovelling someone else's driveway,
while i can't get the car outta my own
cutting someone else's wood,
while i freeze
cleaning someone else's house,
while mine's a mess

i got a yardful of obligations
and a pocketful of hope

#728 rambling

habits are like hoses without underwear
cliches are high-heels on hippopotamuses
tradition is a web-covered attic box
and today is a sick rat at the bottom of a forgotten mineshaft

#727 in with the old

age is not outdated
age is reinventing itself
is age not wisdom, but there is a correlation
age is a reality
age is an advantage
age is not entitlement, but it used to be
age is awesome
the new age age is awesome
and awesome age believes youth is awesome

#726 playing with the font

italian
face
large
small

#725

out of place and dangerous
like a hammer on a cloud
funny and serious,
odd and noteworthy
like a hammer on a cloud

#724 the bath

she charges out the opening door
limbs and appendages contorting in the wind
crashes headfirst into the nearest mud-puddle
stealing the smell, battling the shampoo

#723 100 degrees in the mind

there is a thing brewing in me
a thought? an idea? a feeling?

there are bubbles clinging to the pot-bottom
they will give in to the heat soon
the water is at boiling temperature without boiling
the silence is suspect
the stillness dangerous

this thing is ready to boil
tomorrow? today? now?

#722 acoustic guitar

the instrument sits on a stand in the corner
metal strings curled like a handlebar mustache
tuned and ready to add life
but instead we press Play
and let technology live for us

#721 isn't marathon training hard?

running is easy for me
i have legs that work
they are not fast
or strong enough to stand out
they are miracles
like everyone's legs
but they are plain, as legs go

running is easy for me, i know i can do it
though i may doubt my ability to run well
i never doubt my ability to run well enough
so if running is easy
what's the hard part?
...going running

stepping into the shorts
forcing feet into socks
lacing the sneakers
all easy
even easier than running

but choosing these things
choosing to step outside
despite a hundred easy and excellent excuses
that's my hard part

#721 kamakawiwo'ole

a new old instrument catches my mind's focus
the meaning of the lyrics grows with my attention
as i take the time to uni-task
one song
for by studying on one thing
we learn about ourselves

#720 tempo day

the best way not to let one day off
turn into two days off
is not to let no days off
turn into one day off

#719 back-up

bits of eraser holding unrealized ideas
swept to the floor
like snow in a palm-size globe

pink rubber tink-tinkles
against the floor
like slow-motion glass

abandoned thoughts shatter
into the world of lost files and what-could-have-been

#718 317 unread

the mail-shelf is full
so is my inbox
the bank accounts have more going in than ever
and more going out than ever
my days are full and disappear into themselves
i have substituted soul risk
for perceived socially expected risk
and i will not receive a soon to be ousted penny
for my thoughts or on the interest accrued on my soul
that is lost with the 10-year old boy i was
the one that sat on the well and cared about the world
more than he cared about the world's opinion

#717 being away

where are they
i'm only in my thirties
but when i visit home
they should be there
dead pets and deceased relatives
they should be there, with tea steeping strong in the kettle
the others have lapped me on the track of grief

#716 dog walk

the world's stresses grow in my head
i walk
her ears flap-fly as she bounds toward me
then jiggle as she walks just ahead of me
tail up
tennis ball in mouth
and the stresses shrivel to nothing

#715 duty calls

nothing motivates like the urge to pee
so i deny myself the trip
until the poem is ended
if i gave in to the call of the bladder
i'd return, to this couch
to this cursor
to waiting for a masterful first line
but more than a masterful first line
i want a poem

#714 a jolly good fellow's dream

masqueraded intellectuals
gesturing stemless wine glasses to no one
upside down penguins
marching with briefcases under-arm
spiral stairs twist and turn
as stars fall like sparks from a birthday-cake sparkler
and the fat candles outweigh the cake
usefulness
as judged by society
faded to black yesterday

#713 my friend

chemicals and liquids fill his body and empty his life
he dies, three days at a time
and i know the boy who use to jump over cow patties
use to lay down on his stomach to receive water from the brook
but now the stomach is dying and the brook is a dry gravel bed

#712 up on the couch

Black Dog is watching me
her eyes haven't left mine
and mine haven't left the laptop
still she watches
watches, hoping for an invite
up onto the couch
typity-type-type
watch
watch
the daily job finished
i tap-tap the couch
okay

#711 gazing through the pane

from his couch, he watches his TV
during his Muted show's ads, he gazes at his street
he sees his neighbour of two years walking up her drive
he's been in love for two years
they've never spoken
she finds the keys, disappears behind her opaque door
he un-Mutes the TV and returns to his show

#710 all for not

vultures in blenders
daffodils in armpits
centerfolds in hymnbooks

black blood flows
through transparent veins and arteries
from the heart to the extremities of the being
then the return trip
again, and again, and again

#709 pink earl

pink synthetic rubber
undoes my mistakes
i sweep the bits from paper down to floor
and i'm sad
the mistake is gone

#708 Fla Chiu Lanse

the lyrics and the beat
play over in his mind

leaving the gathering
leaving his sounds and smells behind him
it happens to us all at some moments
we leave these things behind us

the night's perfect wind, broken
only by the birdsong of the invisible anatidae anas
low
flying
their song a metronome, guiding his steps

then the title hits him
and he laughs to no one

#707 daily

new notes distract like the neighbour's dog
and ideas feel as fresh as mouldy flecking paint
so here he sits
banging old words
in search of new combinations
trapped in familiar routine
looking for novel results
not today
maybe tomorrow

#706 penny and my thoughts

the building was home
the people my family
for good reason i left
now
i am visitor, a nuisance
a moldy penny
when will grown-ups grow up

#705 practicing the preach

i stop
a trance-inducing song intro waltzes among the folds of my brains
kites dance at my feet
deflated like unwanted lollipops
collarbones chase mice through gateways to daytona
where blackholes swim them back to the center of the rectangle in which they ensnare themselves
amongst monkey milk and doggy-doo

#704 sharing poetry

nervous, i crawl into my head
escaping the audience
as i open the envelope for them
the one with my heart in it
my deepest and my shallowest secrets
when i speak the last word
silence echoes

then he says, read it one more time

#703 again

that backyard of possibility is gone now
one year ago i ran toward it
as in-the-moment as any person can be
Smack
i hit the patio door
invisible pane
blood and tears and shock and hospitals
some mine, some hers
trapped tears are just as wet as escaped ones

now i look at the backyard
longing
thinking
soon

#702 laissez-faire

we got problems
thrown names and hurt feelings
we got trouble
raised voices and ignored opinions
disagreements
cops called and sirens wailing
but at the end of tomorrow
we're still family

we do our own thing
separate beds and closed doors
we do rarely agree
laissez-faire and over-policied
but at the end of tomorrow
we're still family

we got our own gifts
beer-chuggin', nose-breakin'
but at the end of tomorrow
we're still family
still family

#701 glorious and somethin'

we have our freedom
so we forget our words
nothing helps people learn anthem lyrics
like censorship and unjust dictatorship
comfort and laziness are two twisted trunks
growing from one stump
the work of removing the original
forgotten

#700 habit moles

habits appear
like plastic moles at the carnival
mocking the chained mallet
i swing
hit black nothing
habit pops up, again
mocking me

#699 unity

unity by force, is not unity
manners by mandate, is not humanity
kind acts for prestige, is not kindness
if the cameras were off
the social pressure was gone
and no one knew
what would you do?

#698 trails and time

the mountain hike has become tradition
he and his wife climb the mountain each June 30th
this year is beautiful weather, though there is an autumn'ish breeze
below, in the valley, on their kitchen table, sit all the joke cards
staples for a 50th birthday
as they descend
the man tugs a lock of greying hair between his thumb and index
struck at how fast the trail passes now
the same distance up as down
but time is not as constant as we would believe

#697 inspiration on the fly

inspiration is an airplane
requiring more energy to start moving than to keep moving
and both hit turbulence, need fuel, and fly you above the clouds

#696 it's all good

i love the colour of bright-sky-blue on clean-mountain-white

when our footprints are hidden below fluffy white

nature's eraser, inviting you outdoors to play

walk, ski, x-country, snowshoe

it's all good

the sun is back from vacation

polishing everyday objects to shine new shades of colour

our truck, yesterday red, today is red

it's all good

#695 taylored

i promised the plane's bubble window
nothing would happen between us
my folks picked me up at the airport
i went home to bed
where i promised my pillow
nothing would happen between us
i woke to the smell of bacon
promised my ceiling
nothing would happen between us
but then the phone rang

#695 heaven almighty

wings and things
pearly gates and early lates
collection of earthly losses and one obvious leader among the bosses
cloud puffies and the bearded scruffies

is there abuse and violence and hate
is there music and drink and debate

#694 breaking news

i will not wallow in the world's woes
as cnn wants me to
i will not spend an hour after supper
learning the worst the globe offered today
i will not let my emotions spiral down
led by the suit-and-tie man and his this-world-is-somber voice

but you must care ask the eyes

i do
i care
i care enough not to watch
i have enough bad in my day
i will not invite negativity into my living room
instead i spend the hour making good news happen
news you never hear
too petty
too feel-good
too minor
but if all the newswatchers united to take
one hour (our hour) to spread good, how many hours would that make

#694 "a fairytale they say... but the children know"

the snowman stands in a short forever
forced too look happy the entire time
near-by rocks and two contorted limbs
i do not want his life, his short season on earth

or maybe the smile, though designed by the maker
is real
maybe he lives trooper's words
maybe that is the way of the snowman

#693 half-serious

a photo breaks the rule of thirds
altering realities that in turn
alter realities
beach stops sky or sky stops beach
in the middle-mark of the marked moment

#692 distinguishing voices

they all tell me
listen to the little voice
but does one know, the little voice's voice
from the masquerardes
fear, self-doubt, anxiety
all are "little voices"
listen or ignore
listen or ignore
how does one know, the little voice's voice

#691 chumba-wumba!

rain fills my bones
i forget the feel of the sun
i forget to check the weather out the window on waking
the pitter-patter
the always wet socks
the grey hue of everything

#690

i feel i am a child new to halloween
that people will believe my costume
that their compliment are kind patronization
i'll trade you a dumptruck full of self-doubt
for a handful of confidence

#689 "... caught on a barbed wire fence"

pride is a tiger in your living room
a barracuda in your bathtub
a hypnosis of power
that will end in blood
but pride is unavoidable
pride in not having pride, is pride
so buy a strong chain and protect your privates

#688 acceptance letter

i shovelled one load at a time
blind to progress
blinded by looking
and then
the pile was gone
i don't know where it went
how could so many little shovelfuls
defeat such a mound
yesterday's frustration
slips away, last night's dream
sugar in shaken water

#687 A Poet's Desire

Hush

Let me speak to you

let me state that which you've never heard nor read

yet know to be true

Hush

Let me write a new prescription

for your soul's lens

that views this world

Hush

My aim is but sacrilegious immortality

for if my arrangement of 26 symbols changes you

then I live forever

Hush
Hush

A poet has spoken

#686 shovelling in january

surrounded by the snow
piled along both sides of his driveway

the man stops, stretches, leans on the shovel

nothing a man does or does not do

is unrelated to his father

his eyes climb to the stars for a moment, to the great bear

he tamps the shovel, twice

and returns to the task

#685 685

they blur now
special, like very
has lost its meaning
still i plod
hoping for a masterpiece

#684 dear big guy (or girl)

why didn't you tell me you don't exist
i put holes in the knees of pants wishing for good grades and world peace
you should have been honest
not played the mysterious trinity card
now i'm left with anachronistic phrases and that's it
i swear to god

sincerely,
me

ps i didn't mean big as in fat

#683 breaking points

his hands are as big as his pay cheque
and as soft as his job teaching at the university
his hard childhood was a distant memory
then the Point brothers pushed him
he was okay until heard they'd called the house
his wife and kid had both answered on different days
something inside him switched to OFF
something else switched to ON
four men pulled him off
and sent him for a walk
he walked for hours
walking from childhood back to the present
to arrive at his front door

#682 august something-or-other

even her toes are objects of constant motion
she's talking on the phone, typing on the computer, cooking in the kitchen, and more
all at once
any one of these tire me out

she is the happiest tsunami on earth
and this year, on a marriage license, our names will be beside each other
like our bodies in bed every morning
forever

#681 street corner

as he sings, the man cries on his guitar
and the passersby succeed in not noticing
avoiding eye contact
fear of being spoken to by a stranger who's Luck-Meter
sits at "E"
his beard and his grime repel us
but we fail to notice our inhuman reactions to his humanity

#680 i am stuck

i play the same playlists
eat the same meals
employ the same verbs

i live everday today
like it was
my yesterday

i have taken the gift of life
and put it on a display shelf
too nice for use or human hands

#680 blue sky and bleeding hearts

cards fall around me from my life's dream-like sky-eye camera angle
royals and aces and numbers lit up by the shining blue sky behind and above
the king of clubs keeps appearing
float-falling, slow-mo
rotating and showing his red-and-white back
what's it all mean the poet asks the king
the king smiles, stoic and silent
reflecting upside-down
holding his swords still, frozen

to the left, his red enemy holds suicidal swords in his ears

#679

in bed, back to back
he hears her muffled sobs
ignores her
after an hour, he falls asleep
knowing he's in the right

he wakes to silence
turns to see the once-white sheets
made red by the hemoglobin
that spilled from her wrists
and he wonders

before or after i fell asleep

#678 2night needs 1

where are the poets
not the ones calling themselves poets
but the real ones
are they living in alleys and in bottles
dark places at the end of Truth Street
where are the Homers and the new Beat
are they dueting with rihanna
loving the way we lie
where are the poets

#677 technological advancement

she at the kitchen table
her fingers firing letters from keyboard to monitor
he on the couch
sloughing off a daily poem

#676 sitting on a swing

round and round and round i go
sometimes fast, but usually slow
life passing by under my toes

give me a mouth harp
and a sleepy campfire
you'll hear no complaints
and i'll never tire

#675 holiday wishes

santa is back at the north pole with the little people
he can only be found here on earth
in department store discount bins
our unwritten permission to greet strangers is over for another year
and soon
hallmark will lower the self-esteem of single people all across the country

#674 the pink book

the book sits closed and useless somewhere in the closet
buried by life and the everyday
clothes and bags, odds and ends
why
retrieval is a one minute job, now taking one year
something in my core is afraid
and so i live an empty life

#673 the last leaf

still she clings to the middle of the branch
brown brittle veins, crinkling in light winter wind
moisture, a childhood memory
gone with the tears dropped for the others who predeceased her
and like that
she lets go
and sails sideways to the ground
trusting that next year's leaves will fill the potholes in her soul

#672 party time

revealing bikini bottoms, a hot-tub, and too much alcohol
danger
sounds like a great night
until you learn that the wearer is a guy

#671 men at bar time

their feet slap the street
each loud word trying to impress the girls
words they'd never say in front of their grandmother
they spent too much time stinking up the bathroom with pretty smells
once in the bar, their drink becomes an outfit accessory
and i feel like shouting
look around you!
is this where you want to meet mrs right?

#670 of blades and people

one thing that's more dangerous than a sharp knife,
is a dull one
says the expert chef to the prep cook
and the wise old man
to the anxious grasshopper

asking more of something or someone than they are capable,
without giving help
results in pain

#669 days like this

make me forget yesterdays
and anticipate tomorrows
friends and family
food and fun
laugh until unrecognizable sounds squeak and peep and snort
their way out of my body

then at night i sleep
tired, happy, content
such are days like this

#669 taking over

this strange place will soon be mine

the colours and the shapes will be as internal as my organs

i will flip on the lights

unamazed that my mind knows the home of the switch

i will be able to navigate without lights

but for now

it belongs to her

#668 bedtime

what was once fun is old and tired
once flashy and new
now pathetic and chintzy
so do i change back to my old self
or find a new fun
and hear the old me mock

#667 sound and silence

"the amazing thing about wood is not that it burns,
but that it floats"
the amazing thing about the poet is not that she is published,
but that she writes daily
the amazing thing about the student is not the graduation,
but the more than a decade of sitting in a desk
the amazing thing about mothers is not the miracle of birth,
but the miracle of forever
the amazing thing about the Mona Lisa is not the fame,
but that like all paintings, it's just made with lines
the amazing thing about music is not the genius,
but that it's all just sound and silence

#666 "turn up the music"

some say evil lives in music
self-corruption in listening to rock n roll
but how else can a north american teen survive those
years between childhood and adulthood when we
realize the adults are just, on average, larger than children
they still exhibit tantrums and they still believe in magic
and the ones who have kids
all believe their kids' lives will be fixed versions of their own
the arnold to their devito

#665 picking strings, picking thoughts

fingertips run on metal strings
massaging some part of my mind
their bustle on their frets, soothes my own
music is a language that cannot be packaged in a dictionary
to do so is to put a bow on happiness
and to slip depression into a gift bag

#664 nature's ambulance-chaser's

after the flooding
cottonwoods thrive
benefiting from tragedy
not malicious,
circumstantial

line river beds
waiting for flood and erosion

#663 go fear

fear is a symptom of growth
and comfort a side effect of complacency
do you scare yourself everyday
do you try new things
music, courses, hobbies
do you share your skills in front of crowds

#662 flakes

month-old tire-tracks and footprints
fade and disappear as fluff falls from above
erasing sloppy browns
leaving new white
potential
self-promises and everyday revolution fill my head
as white fills yards
each one is unique
but what's it matter
when they share fate of purpose and of place

#661 sports and tools

what is a man
does he fix everything and drink beer from the bottle
does he cuddle his girl and hold doors open
does he dress well
does he have dirty fingernails
does he save words, and in doing so, save their weight
does he watch the 6 o'clock news uninterrupted
does he throw a tight spiral
does he know all the tsn stats and all the acronymic sport terms
what is a man

#660 atop the freezer, atop the world

remember the you that longed to see the top of the fridge
the mystery and magic in a place viewed by only adult eyes
occupied by only pens and change

remember the pinball machine in your stomach
as an adult hoisted you up, up in the air
and for precious seconds
you spied
the magic and the mystery

if you don't remember
try harder
for the sake of your self now
for the sake of your self then
for the sake of young people today

for beyond just pens and change
above the freezer exists,
all the mystery of childhood

#659 elastic bedsheet

i will protect you and cherish you
i'll warm your side of the bed and spread the elastic bedsheet
whether you wear my small ring or not
i will love you
i'll love you so much it will hurt me some days
but love and pain have always been friends
to avoid pain is to ignore love knocking on your front door
i will exhale easy beside you each night
because that is happiness
that is contentment

#658 for your thoughts

lowest odd denomination
they all make "sense"
perhaps we should call them something new,
coin a new term
trade five for a popular music band
and i'm done,
now that i've shared my two cents

#657 after the fact

and i read that rules are written after the fact in war
and i wonder, what about love
when are those rules written?
does the winner write them?
is there a winner?
perhaps there are two ever-changing sets of unwritten rules
which explains why love beats war
in the department of confusion

#656 unspoken

her body shows no signs of leaving the patio chair
one hand on her belly
looking out to the empty garden, nothing growing there
too tired to cry
too tired to sleep
a tired that sleep can't fix
behind her is a prairie house polluted with reminders
and a husband who just wants to move on
she sighs and her brain notices the sky
too beautiful
too big, too heavy

#655 discard

i am standing in the garbage truck's compactor
chewing my nails as space shrinks

okay i'm not
but i feel like my positivity is
everywhere, i see something i failed to do
or did wrong

everything around me is crumbling and falling apart
will my outlook be next

#654 "and what's from the earth"

a towel across the bottom of the door
green air clears up everything
a plate of treats is offered in rounds by the hostess
and in this apartment
i fail to see the harm
that we see in the media and the general public
i'm not even partaking of the herb, the gangha
but i see love and openness and people talking, really talking
the towel at the door filters
keeping smoke in
keeping hidden agendas out

#653 berry patch roots

i saw power
i'm surrounded by power
a dad that worked 9-5 for guys that disrespected him
worked to put groceries in the fridge and cupbords
and taught the power of satisfaction in a job well done
not taught with words but with life
i saw power
a mother who added water to the last bit of stubborn no-name ketchup
that clung to the plastic
she convinced it to come out
the night before grocery day
she added it to a huge hearty casserole built from nothing
i saw power
surrounded by brothers and a sister
who entertained each other with sticks and rocks
played in mud-piles and frog ponds
who shared 1 tv, and twice as may channels
i saw power
a grandmother who managed stairs without knees
after a life of ten kids and 50-plus grandkids
a life overflowing with love and empty of money
success wasn't a fat pay cheque
success was being proud of yourself and your actions when you humbled yourself each night at the foot end side of the bed
and happiness was knowing your family was alive and safe
i saw power
a big brother who paved roads through puberty and insecurity
and managed to remember us all through his teenage years
through the dark high school years
then decades later returned to finish what was started
i saw power
brothers who stayed home in the dark to avoid the scary light of society
grow up to be teachers and speakers and managers
managing the fear looking back from the mirror
i saw power
a brother
growing up picked on and kicked on who wouldn't tell
who found empathy for his abusers, explanations and justifications
who believes in justice every tic of every toc on every clock
i saw power
a sister
small in size, mammoth in character
who grew up behind five boys
a sister who, broke pine, steps tall, front of the line
i saw power
another grandmother
who lived a life of devotion and sacrifice
who loved knowing details of the lives of her kids and theirs
i saw power
a grandfather
who invented flyswatters made out of 3-owner thin shoe souls
who had no thing but new he didn't have "nothing"
married a english teacher who understood that two negatives make a positive
meaning, no matter how many bad things, if you stayed even, it was all good
a grandfather who found in everything, a reason to whistle
because happiness was a berry patch full of berries and empty of noise
i saw power
i'm surrounded by power

#652 a life on the rocks

i lived my life with boo's
boo's at my attempts to rise above the life around me
but somehow, now my life is filled with booze

#651 noise

turn the car radio off
listen to the silence
if it's too loud
deal with the noise in your head

turn off the tv and do some quiet thinking
avoid the temptations
of talking and smoking and drinking

just sit
breathe
be

#650 21 varieties

21 varieties of pasta sauce
really?
21 i disagree with Ford's opinion of black
but 21 varieties is excessive
lined up with labels and logos smiling at me in the ultra-bright aisle
21 varieties of tomato sauce
most with unrecognizable ingredients
to help the contents last forever
and to taste more like pasta sauce than pasta should

#649 mash potatoes and snow

requiem for childhood
when toys were serious business
for when time was different
when recess was a staple
and bedtime story a given
when mashed potatoes were castles and train-tracks and tunnels
and snow was a welcome wonder
and childhood had its hard days
but i look forward to providing one

#648 perspective on a plate

a long day at work
but i arrive home to a fresh hot meal
problems evaporate
turn invisible and move away
a peck on the cheek that is both habitual and meaningful
her smile shatters the downward spiral of my thoughts and everything starts over
fresh

#647 losing each other

friends and drinks and laughs around a warm kitchen table
music and teasing and eating
guitars and drums and harmonicas appear
memories, old and new
and then someone turns off the stereo and shouts
cab's here, let's go to the bar

#646 99 and 44/100

wash
scrub
there is not enough water in the municipal tank
to rinse this feeling down the drain
with sore skin
i find my towel
contaminate it with my body and my thoughts
the mirror catches me
i exit

#645 classic

two lines, parallel, separated by inches
stretch ahead of my skis
to the bend in the trail
a trail rooved by an archway of evergreen and cottonwood
speckled with stars
as a few flakes meander to the ground
inside my fleece is sweat
from burning off the stresses of the day
but those are gone from me now
and i am here
in this moment
arms pumping skis sliding
in this moment, minutes don't exist
because time, time forgets herself

#644 thank you

how lucky i am
to be this sad
only months
but so connected
so many stories
told and untold
and now i pull out of the parking lot
the last time
and i'm so sad
tears fill my eyes
how lucky i am to be this sad