Wednesday, October 11, 2017


i thank the desert for humbling me again, bringing me back in after i spoke sour and shaming.
i thank the dirt and creosote for crawling under my nails, and into my locks, and through my sinuses and across the wood floors.
i thank the pink meteor fire-grapejuice-burgundy sunsets that rip my heart out and trigger the trains - those stupid trains -haunt my sleep, whistle into my dreams - and remind me that choices do exist.
i thank the weight and responsibility i feel again, the one that had drained in imperceivable drips, year after year, when i lived in California.
i thank the eagles, and owls, and coyotes, and the blooming saguaros. you've given me meditation, a voice, silence, memories. life again

way out west

the way in the water

the way the sunset reflects
off the water

the way old timers hold eachother

the way in the wash

the way this day
find its own tail

the way it fails

the way I am within this self

known too well