cedar planks line the dim lit hall
morning snow begins to fall
sepia print in a chipped wood frame
embers spark from the franklin flame

rustling sounds from bunks below
records play in a tight alcove
bacon grills on an iron sheet
gloves are warmed by baseboard heat

bean bags tossed on colored ****
papka placed as a punching bag
red brick wall with mounted poles
windows filled with glacier bowls

whiskey jack on the southern rail
a frozen patch of wine and ale
pine cones fall in gathering white
brothers bathed in firelight

sleighs are on the table top
canyon road is at a stop
northern winds that bite the face
lines are up the gondola base

cornice clipped by gully goats
the rubber man appears to float
alpine depths are on the rise
peaking sun through parting skies

triple ropes and nordic luge
honored guests from baton rouge
gelande jumps on rainbow drive
nostalgia’s light and warm reply

I’ll take the left side, you take the right
cause I’d rather not be the one who broke your parents’
“genuinely antique” bed
I heard the wood give way just now
when we sat on the edge
and I know, tonight, it’s coming down.

I should probably be more of your gentleman,
but I think that’s what put us into this mess
when we got to the cabin I complimented your ma,
“Natasha is such a unique name in this age”
Her reply, flat through the grimace
“its an old and ugly Russian name, call me Nat.”
Your dad invited me to walk in the woods,
where I tripped over a root, ten feet in
and threw your father head first into poison oak.
It’s hard to tell through the swelling,
but I’m pretty sure he’s still scowling.
Then trying to help after dinner I knocked their
“two-hundred-dollar, honest-to-jesus, Napa Valley’s Best”
bottle a’ wine
onto their “ten-thousand-dollar, straight from Andkhoy.”
Afghani carpet.

So, I’m sorry
but I can imagine you’d forgive me
your boyfriend,
who loves and adores you,
for sleeping this day off
and letting the night drop out from under you.

You wander around the forest looking for your next meal..
You're silent, as you wander alone in the forest.
You smelled a lovely sensation, and walked toward it.
You came across a little cabin in the forest, where a small family lived.
You looked into the window and saw a little girl sitting in the window sill
You thought to yourself, "dinner?"
She looked back at you and said with a soft voice,
"You're a sly little fox aren't you? Now, go home to your family, before my father see's you."
He did, but not right away, he stared, and listened, and did as she said.

Empyrean ocean
sifting silken under moonlight.
Pure and dawn the memory of bonfires
and hymns passing like fading auras
echoing into the firs.
I sit on a lawn chair whiskey in hand
head loosely let back
while we wait for the end of one year
and the start of another.
Drunken voices speak
faint topics inside the cabin a few meters off,
it's silent here a picture settling
over our temporary breath of history,
smoke escaping our lips and entering
the haze of reminisce.
Fire crackling contained roars warmth
like freckled arms laced around our skin
and eyes heavy set in the sheath of heat
resounding the field
while winter's dew is pollinating the lawns.
Celebration on all corners of the world
Big Apple bumper to bumper
metropolitan hysteria
TEN
I'm smiling
NINE
the crowds gathered around palettes burning
to ash like the universe
EIGHT
sparklers lit small stars
fizzling dancing midst the embers
SEVEN
I'm dying beautifully
SIX
You are too
FIVE
Indonesian Summer on the horizon it's all
so hopeful and you can't help but think idealistically  in times like these
FOUR
take a break from the bombs and the wars
for oil or in the name of god and let the air soak through your lungs
refreshing the world refreshing our youth
THREE
we have so much time soon to be so little
it all goes by too quickly somehow
TWO
our eyes are gleaming
lips wide in radiance
kisses kissed hearts lifting
up in flame
ONE
what will we be another year from now?
where is it we cry next?
who and where is our next great love?
how do we hurt and when?
what does it take to recover?
I'm sure we'll find a way
it's only a few hours to morning now
always is somewhere I suppose
and here starts a new odyssey,
everything is getting older
and newer all at once,
the fire is still glowing.
Nirvana goes on dancing
inside us.

I'm manic, and so is everyone else around me. We are drowning in our self prophesied nadirs; enraptured in the drama of our lives; enamored with the devils we chose to let live.

We reasoned "What harm could come from this spirit which suffered to bring me such joy, which rose from the depths to meet me in the eye and kiss me on the tongue?"

And we know, the floorboards are soon to split, that the world was not meant to drown all at once.

I remember lying there in the greenish sleeping bag,
Staring up at the wooden ceiling with all the dust,
The cobwebs sway in slightest amounts of air,
And falling asleep slowly, the loft so full of must.
This sinking sensation comes over me and I can see
A dark shadow in the other room, it moves across the
Doorway and looks as I call out for someone anyone
And in panic I have a total feeling of doom.

But this is just the beginning, I wake up in beads of sweat,
Is this really my life or dream, have I truly woken up yet...?

This story I hear tell of a man across the halls,
Who would walk toward the other side
At half past 12 at night as my friend recalls,
A dark visage, a shadowy veil, came out
When the daylight would subside.
The story as I recall keeps me up sometimes,
He had no eyes, again I repeat, you could see right
Through his eyes!

It is near Minocqua Wisconsin,
along Lake Placid,
on the Lac Du Flambeau Reservation.
Majestic Pine Trees,
Maple Leaves,
and the haunting echo of the loon.

The district attorney of Illinois
my Great Grandpa, George Hall
this was his cabin.
My grandmother, Georgia and her sisters
on the walls, her sister Rosa
looks a bit like me, she died at 16.

I have a relative,
can’t remember who, but he died in
the chair I still like to fall asleep in.
They say he had a peaceful slumber

My father’s sailboat parked within the trees
what adventure this boat entails
the wind and water, lets me feel free
Can’t wait until I can sail on the sea.

The old canoe lays by the lake
I always imagine, the Native people
here before I, their land,
which I now call my own.
The Lake of Torches Casino
now what they call their own.

I admire the
beauty of their tradition, rich in spirit
finding peace with mother earth--
musical flutes and tribal drums,
I am connected to my creator.

A family jewel,
I hope it always remains
rich in history,
the enchanting sound of the murmuring pines
a part of me, my favorite place to be.

"Hey, sweets! How was your trip?"
or
"Hey, love :) Hope you had a good time!"
or even
"Hey, I missed you."

No.

You forgot.

Hours after you get home, I sit waiting,
Not knowing when you would get home.

I was home at two yesterday.
I had service at eleven.
I left the cabin at nine in the morning
A six hour car ride
Wondering if you missed me, because I sure as hell missed you.

And I get a "hi."