he lifts a foot
picks at a callus on the pad of his big toe
the consequence of running 10 miles a day.
workboots in the morning
sneakers later
thumping over single-track trails in the park
teaberries and hemlock needles and cliffs
cold beer,
tired eyes
repeat.
Endless cycles
restless psyche.
24 years
and an empty bank account
it's the off season in a tourist town
and all the windows are boarded.

let's take a walk to the dock and dip our toes in the sea
enjoy those steely gray eyes.

one--

this paper is cold underneath my fingertips
grating
and i'm shifting thoughts like puzzle pieces.

so many writers have commented on sunlight slanting
curling around motes of dust.
thousands of similar phrases:
sadness,
the flat gray of mid-january mornings,
love, hips, the night sky,
clocks.

two--
                                    
who knows how to articulate
the feeling of being a high school senior
feet anchored in waterproof boots
surrounded by a clogging,
dragging
stagnancy

three--

breathe and you fog up the glass
four flat tires--
a lit up exclamation point on the dash.
let's pull off the road
route 9, 10, 11,
numbers, letters
signs bent by the plow,
and the pavement's salted
and the trees chilled quiet
wow, look here--
a seedy gas station
and an out of order pump.

just paint me a picture of a graham ******* trail.


"you know
sometimes when i'm walking back from lunch
and its windy
i like closing my eyes
and stretching my arms out
and pretending i'm somewhere else
preferably a place with less buildings
and more trees"*

                                                        ­                       *"well said.
                                                           ­                     if that isn't a story
                                                           ­                     then i don't know what is."

wearing the fragrance of the Moon
her star-heart sings
of dawn's long reaching light

and at midday she sits cross legged
atop a small hill
watching people dance in sunlight

when the eve comes around
you will find her
getting dressed-up for midnight

and all the sparkling stars
a crown
she wears till Sunrise.

You pulled the foundations I'd spent years forming
Right from under me

Do not disturb,
the dog that slumbers.
Make the blunder,
be torn asunder.
Lightning strikes before the thunder.
You'll still feel it from six feet under.
And all you love,
will not recover.
From their son,
who forever slumbers.