a certain snow fell last night
to freshen the scene
covering shadowed footprints

seven, five and seven more
count your syllables
and abrupt endings for sure

you got to be kidding me
miscalculations
they’re all I got to offer?

fold paper along its crease
contemplate the change
you’ve made in the worlds future

a small handful of fresh snow
an immense glacier
a connection to be grasped

fill my stein with a foamed head
always tastes good but
the next one will prove theory

please pass the salt to me please
the Tao finds balance
so send the pepper also

more than some less than most
this dharma *** impels its ghost
to laugh and lust the days away
to cheat the dust that makes its way
from far Nepal and settles deep
on this raging skull toward final sleep

comma snowflakes dot the cold air morning
a very fine crystal coating of snow white results
I reduce my size  
the thin veneer of frozen specks
become the size of telephone poles
stacked leaning between my head and the sky
my new world has taken the grey light
to whiteness hinged with blue
that becomes the source of my magic
so, I gaze upon the closed loop wonder
of another imaginary world that is compelled
to be seen by an audience of its own creation


Friday, November 29, 2013

rapt with good fortune
warm, full, exposed to great ideals
excited comfort
plans, so many plans
throw off any thoughts of demise
see the eleven degrees outside
as nothing more than another palpable experience
they say that every drop of reality
is eternal but unable to be reviewed
well, I guess those are my words
now added to all this certainty


Friday, November 29, 2013

the skies are banded with cloud
grey mixed with less grey
snow sits in the tree crotch
and puffs into the air
from the tips of long branches
touched by a draft of wind
underfoot corn flake ice
overhead flies the jay
the earth begins its nap
the air biting cold



Thursday, November 28, 2013

where is the gift that was promised
how could this day ever end
the beads that we fashion
seem strung toward naught
and high ideals confronted
with a very silly reality
where do we go
where was I before birth
how do we live without answers
without a single clue
as if the very stones we tread
were also concerned with their demise



Wednesday, November 27, 2013

under the gun on top of the world
the rhyme and the beat
there’s a stinger out there
there is no easier explanation
as a family of artists behaves
they forge a crystal bent light
as they sleep


Sunday, November 24, 2013