on the perfect end
of a star,
watching light
pour itself toward me.
The light pours
itself through
a small hole
in the sky.
I'm not very happy,
but I can see
how things are
faraway.
Richard Brautigan.
June 30, 2013
June 28, 2013
June 27, 2013
June 26, 2013
June 25, 2013
June 24, 2013
June 23, 2013
June 22, 2013
I leave the number and a short
message on every green Volvo
in town
Is anything wrong?
I miss you.
574-7423
The phone rings constantly.
One says, Are you bald?
Another, how tall are you
in your stocking feet?
Most just reply, Nothing's wrong.
I miss you, too.
The Ubiquity of the Need for Love, Ronald Koertge
June 21, 2013
June 20, 2013
June 19, 2013
June 18, 2013
June 17, 2013
June 16, 2013
My dad hasn't been perfect, and I've inherited some of his flaws. But the beauty is that despite his shortcomings, he has also been one of my best friends for almost 20 years. I've learned hard work, kindness, authenticity, and generosity from him. Thank you daddy, for never leaving us like your dad left you, or like his father before him, left him. You broke a pattern of abandonment, and replaced it with one of protection, provision, and trust. I love you.
June 15, 2013
June 11, 2013
June 10, 2013
Southern State.
In the dry spot where East Tolly splits in two
the narrow middle-class
lace their fingers and tap their knees,
while the rabbits sing.
Cloistered and prattled,
dimpled and thick-
they wobble in the humidity,
and caddy past the pond.
(I used to dream my brother drowned
in a hot air balloon.)
Now I drink the dank air
and drag my lust through the dirt.
I bleed,
but bandage the mirror.
June 9, 2013
June 7, 2013
June 6, 2013
June 5, 2013
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