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To A Young Poet
I don’t usually write because I’m too busy being afraid of it. Not of writing but the it. It’s more like breaking open a fruit. Not to taste but to see what bleeds out. Here is a country. Here is a person in that country who has no papers but digs holes in the earth, plants trees,…
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i am delirious
love poem 1. i am delirious w joy on a saturday night day of 181,000 distractions that i stay homeanyway, tend to home agarden of love wet sinking spongy i am fast& home spun so to sit down on quiet winter’s nightthat i get to blue lightening storm come throughspill to dark moon last of…
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Changes of season song
The sunlight that no matter how clear and contrasted was like a blanket’s pulled up on it bc of that dark. The uppershore ppl in my dream and especially what they were peddling. Fall Equinox week, 78 degrees in the hurricane-clean, bare feet and the hot feel good sun. The signs, pirate smile and wink…
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I am told to write to my Muse.
I wake up magic. Still smoke in my hair. First thought must get back to tent. It was 31 degrees out and windchills so it felt 20 on the night we first put in the stove, seasoned a week outdoors. Cast iron thick, and on an earthen tile floor. This is when Brigid gets in.…
Kel 