king fish jump

Fish jump, kingfisher shouts and flies upriver, downriver, it's low and cardinal blooms flow red along the shore, along with white boneset and nymphs wildly mating covering the wet rocks.
Swamp sunflowers, elderberries, partridgeberries, joe-pyeweed - green ferns against dark of where the door would be.
Leaves are turning and turkeys run through the meadow and along the road.

Cupboard doors open and shut,
raccoon, skunk, porcupine
sleeping on the cold hard ground

measuring cup, measuring spoon, a nebula shaped like a butterfly.

Lettuce eat us

Washing black dirt off the lettuce wondering, well, if the lettuce takes up dirt to make foodlettuce, why can't we just eat dirt? Why don't we skip the frivolous food step and get right down to the mineraly dirt? The lettuce is a transformer carbon machine making dirt edible for us (and H2O and CO2 and sunenergy). ( photosynthesis ) And on the other hand, lettuce can't eat us until we compost into dirt and become lettucefood. Just happened to be going to get this link to this wonderful song written and sung by Levon Helm, subject coincidental. Listen to whole song here:

Some rain, some eggs on blue plates. Cold comes in from the woods, flanked by chickadees.

uzz uzz

brown tree-bean buzz, cat fuzz,
and she was...
floating over the neighborhood.

hot old age bank

unsleep. trucks and banks. age old age.
whole wheat and the death-penalty. hot-eyed coffee in a huge room empty and full of dead. koi carp and yellow lotus in the pool and iron cranes can't prance.
blowup house made of colour and children fly. flames in the yard, sweet sticky goo -- a Jupiter-rise and wake the train, wrap us in the speed of noise and pages of books.

O sweet paper!






guilty of art

kitchen mind

Faces stare out a newspaper, handwritten words scrawled on paper.
Molecules in the steel tea kettle mingling with mine
to become the company man
soup in a cup, wooden pencil,
swallow your pride and your conscience, too
all those years
wooden table, hand-thrown clay pot from Janice's fingers;
Janice comes for lunch. We can't get the pickles out of the jar...
paper envelope, pitcher of water

you can never be set free

jar of marmite, real slate chalkboard bound with red felt, string and wood
is blank.

Youngstown Kitchens cupboards in a Youngstown kitchen,
the quiet of a kitchen mind photographing water falling from a faucet.

On the other hand is the black bear on the wall going to come down out of the calender and drag the moose calf into the underbrush of the flickering youtube and are you going to come out and push your typing finger into my soft grey matter?

golden brown perfume

sounds of distant explosions, ah we're in the Valley...The Bees, Ted and Gasoline along with Billy the Dog and sweet rotting odor of apples on the road.

Flocks of sparrows, flocks of goldfinches, grapes crawl growing behind the rectory...collecting cleome* seeds, discovering goldenrod has a perfume - never woulda thunk it - we have forty light bulbs in the house.

* "Cleome is a genus of flowering plants in the family Cleomaceae. Previously it had been placed in family Capparaceae, until DNA studies found the Cleomaceae genera to be more closely related to Brassicaceae than Capparaceae. The APG II system[1] allows for Cleome and the other members of Cleomaceae to be included in Brassicaceae." Wikipedia entry

cocoa-cold

A cocoa-cold morning, avocado trees shivering, gathering wood, picking up the pineapple plant.
oh my the death of Clippie, the MS paperclip listen here at: "Eulogy For a MS Mascot

dill seed

goldenrod in the breeze, squirrel buries an acorn, cat snoozes past noon and then looks at maps.
Pop-sickles, goldfinches, cardinals, walking dogs. Gathering dozen aluminum post office-ward -- and not all of them beer!-- because vehicles steered by kettles of beer veering down the road queer gives us the willies eerie.
Barker filling the air from first competition at our greatest little secret of best cross-country track in the area.
Little coon feet, lining up moldy clothespins, sweeping the carpet, getting the horse papers, 35 dollars and dill seed.



Katrina was four years ago. American Routes and Holly's trip

So

back to covers and memorials all death all a few feet away within arm's reach, within a breath not took.
Watching in awe a spider weave it's gossamer web on our clothesline,
tacking silvery filament to & fro guiding it just so with a back leg, running & spewing so fine a thread: I can't spin silk out my butt can u?
And the spider has spots on its legs like the one Big Daddy Rock sent dancing around the tattoo parlour in pennsylvania.
So delicate a deathtrap
wafting in the dark cold breeze
so.