Avalanche Gardener or The Slow Migration of Change

The slow migration of change sometimes begin within waves which look like endings. Or in this case snow tracks on a northern slope that suddenly descend into hardy dirt paths- overlooked & abhorred for their non-eloquence. But sometimes the dirt is where you find yourself standing. There’s nothing particularly pretty about soil on its own….

Behind the Sun

Behind the Sun- I wasn’t ready for things I once wanted. It’s a weird sigh of freedom An aloof relief comes after losing. Drink alone from your inner gourd. Reach out; Stretch past the belly of your breaking. Shove your nude emperors out into the forests Out of your front doors. Holographic victories Fall hollow…

After the Goldrush/Lost inside the Forest

True to nature I chose the complicated hike that found me lost and turned every which way around. Stuck for hours somewhere in a long wilderness loop in the Rocky Mountain National Park. Colorado keeps calling me back, an unintended disciple. The lessons becoming easier to learn as I let myself be broken to the teaching. It’s like we’re always on the cusp of knowing, like that point in your day drinking a coffee and laughing with your best friend, or on that cerebral scatterfying acid trip when you figured out the universe, or close to climaxing- the constant verge of almost knowing. Then all is ephemeral again. Wisps of genius flowing back into the void. The curse of peering into secret ethers is forgetting all we weren’t supposed to learn.

From Queer to Some Eternity

I feel like I am fulfilling my purpose, that the muses flow through my penstrokes. I wrote a book that I am proud of, run-on sentences, and all. To what extent or success or dustbin acclaim it may achieve- I know not. I know it the fullness to where my path is leading, except I…

Setting Free the Captive/Free Man in Mexico

I am sitting at a bench in Chalputepec Park overlooking the lake. My edible is kicking in. I only have 6 or 7 left. The day is beautiful. Sunny with a cool breeze. Children blowing bubbles, laughter and hundreds of voices heard in the near distance. I believe I’m supposed to stay in Mexico for…

This Harvest Of Woman Born (Part Two)

A farmer plants his seeds knowing in time green stalks will rise.
Bury your worries in the secret garden
Herbs burst from soil, strong and unbaptized
In time fall wind blows away all blooms
Your children thrive in houses and streetsides.
Each a thread woven in a street beggars’ looms.
Our blood is mixed with your’s flowing and entwined
as an ancient fermented wine these streams have flown born in eons before our own.
Through thousands of lines Children, birds, & trees
keep finding a different way to shine.