Roam phantoms
of my little
lost self,
Playing, running
around the apple trees

Happy is
the laughter
of my twin sister

Through the kitchen
window Mom fixes
dinner

Her smile bastes
the turkey
for Thanksgiving

Roam phantoms
of my little
lost self,
Playing, running
around the apple trees

Now
the fallen apples
rot on the ground

The backyard
of my past
is sullen wet
with leaves

dust cloud heavy
in an apricot sky
cottonwood mucker
under ambrose pale
whippet and shepherd
mill at the earth patch
yellow birch hangs
over red bench park

combine shavings
in crack rust brown
scissors chips fall
at the back stop
whiskey jack looters
sing patented chords
siblings (and 2 wheel enthusiasts!)
give thanks

joyous retrievers
master the criss cross
bare maples stand
at settlers way
barred owl and blue jay
whistle in the fore-wind
ghosts
and goblins
pull on the seeds

wind gusts belt
over the west gulch
a blood rush churns
in the chilling fall morn
hallowed grounds still
at the midday
quiet reflections
of the afghan
and hound

jumpers unite
at the oxbow
route runners bend
(on a sultry foray!)
meadows exposed
in the framework
ball parks empty
with pennants past

barrel dirt favors
the brew house
crimson and copper
find bracken ridge gate
harvest hands savor
the honey and hops
blankets of color
for a winter's hatch

brush fire kept
under steady peruse
bark bites fly
and embers glow
pine cones drop
from the timber tops
3 wick candles
grace the dinner place

shiver and ******
at the piper's call
cob web dew
on the shadowy gates
a chilled mist mellows
the season's return ~
poets and artists
and dreamers awake

A sea of ivy engulfs -- the house has grown comfortable in its plot
The specters are horrific even in victory
The door hangs heavy in hand
Idyllic -- I am a twisted tornado of hope  
We’ll scratch the pyrite off the laughter when we're  done

A conveyor belt --
Plate fork knife
Knife fork plate -- a hedonism of silverware
The shift and rise of the fear
Confident and full of splendor
Dancing on the edge of a dime between Cool hearted emptiness and the heated vitriol of truth
The dime continues its dance

Plate fork knife
Knife fork plate
We were here once long ago
A grandiose thought and a barren action
I was you once, once until the river flooded
I would be you again and that's a promise you told me
This maze outside our house is filled with friction and of our own design
Bolts and warped wood are the entry to our kingdom

Always entering the field of battle with stone in a field of steel
A warrior of words meant to leap the abyss between your joyous abuse and her scathing affection
Crumpled letters stapled to shields
Their words --
The hope they have is false -- the promises destined to go unfulfilled
The iron rises from the field and fills my mouth
It soaks and stains my smile
None of the enemy combatants can be trusted
There's blood on the table
There's blood on the table in all its grandest forms  




We're all in this separate reality of our own design
No one exists in here it's just us and that is the truly terrible part of it all
No one else wants to watch because we don't want them to

This is for us -- our amusement our self-hate our deep dive down into the mundane complacency of it all
This is ours -- our pain and sorrow and joy and false hope our faith -- our sit there smiling and laughing and talking about how your day was and who you are and how you have been. Remember that time when ... no, I don't remember and I never want to again because all of the laughs have been cheapened by your artful lies and the threat of your anger and the hulking shadow of your violence.

Accustomed to staring straight ahead, the color of your eyes the curves of your face I have forgotten them all. Your voice is mine and without it, I don't have one of my own.

So here is my great proclamation to a table of ghosts with shattered silverware and rotten delights.
I've tried and been true. Failure has come far more often than success and yet I celebrate you all. The wrong you have done has made me stronger. The right you have been having made me kinder. The hate in my heart will die and fade. And a man willing full of this world's wonder will remain.
And although....

Our imaginations have long since fled this land and all we are left with is our cold ****** selves and the fogged glass of our memories. We are one. We have shown up here in this world -- ready and willing to do and be something.  

Make no mistake we have all failed -- and maybe there lies the true miracle -- the true beauty behind all of this wretchedness that hurts so **** bad.

But then again, I excuse when there is no excuse to be had. I proclaim the guilty innocent and those that are innocent enough to stay by my side risk the cloud of my wrath.

And so maybe, maybe just this once I will fade off -- I have retired my horse and there are no sunsets left for me. In the best possible way, I hope to become the ether -- the nothingness that the universe has yet to put a name to.

come one, come all.
gather 'round, gather 'round the table.
you'll find your invitations—
corporations' coupons—packed
between stories of Indigenous
People, shot by militarized cops in riot gear.
Water Protectors defending the river
while a black snake rears to poison the well.
tear gas, rubber bullets, and concussion grenades
replace ragged blankets draped in smallpox.
a tradition rooted in genocide
upheld in frigid North Dakota.
no need to ponder
the lasting legacy
of a leader who campaigned
on "hope" and "change." a hypocrite
continuing a tradition of colonial
aggression, lying by omission.
just another facet
of his presidential profession.
so drown the news of a fascist's
election in gravy and eggnog,
viscous substances to gorge
yourselves on. Nazis vandalizing
black churches with swastikas
must've escaped your notice.
vacuous, preaching
that Jesus is the reason
for the season, but i think
your savior would flip
your Thanksgiving Table over.
flimsy pretenses of gratitude
discarded hours later, chasing deals
before your stomach could even settle.
your brand new 4K TV
cost you over $4K, but couldn't give you
a clearer picture. you continue to disregard
the smoke signs and headlines,
pursuing the material.
consume!

this is the third thanksgiving without you.
this is the third thanksgiving without your laugh.
this is the third thanksgiving without the question "are your still playing?"
this is the third thanksgiving without that faint tobacco smell following you.

this is the fourth thanksgiving without you.
this is the fourth thanksgiving without you yelling at my uncle for his hair.
this is the fourth thanksgiving without you're criticisms about the soup being salty.
this is the forth thanksgiving without your two cents about politics.

i hate having two less seats at the table.

I’m thankful for the times
That I have what I need
And everyone brave enough
To fight against greed.

Thankful for the roof above my head,
And the socks on my feet
And all the great food I get to make and eat.

Grateful for the love I’m able to give
And even more, the love that I get
For all of the places and faces
I’ll never forget.

Memories of rejoice,
And those that we mourn.
I’m thankful for everything I’ve got
And so much more…