Flaxseed toast rolled up morning glory strings, planted lamb's ears runners.
Glass storm doors, water runs out the hose, onions from the yard into the tabouli, fresh bite of tomato, parsley, olive, lemon juice.
Stacking wood, pile it high, make it tall, little mice run, stop, look up at me, and a Carolina wren calls.
Gooey oak wood mushrooms, transplanted asters ad infinitum, two four six eight clumps, soil solid, dark, resistant.
Ted washing down the yard with gasoline around the little boy scrubbing.
Cat has lost its bell, meter man walks reading spinning electricity, chef with a wounded shoulder is not cooking, should we sieve her homemade laundry soap?
Fallen leaves are a soft carpet speckled brown.
Gets dark, Jupiter and moon come out together prance beyond the branches, the surf of interstate eighty ebbs and flows with dark imaginings - does she go West or go East - a diesel-throated choral call.
Coast2Coast guest: "well, yeah, but it's not that technology makes it too easy, it's that we don't spend enough time sitting in the dirt anymore."
Heidegger and a Hippo Walk Through Those Pearly Gates: Using Philosophy (and Jokes!) to Explore Life, Death, the Afterlife, and Everything in Between by Thomas Cathcart and Daniel Klein
Coloured bowls of coloured fruit on a wooden table pastel oils running dry on paper in the shadows no effort, all see, all drawn,
up
be
am.
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