in a town not so far away
and for the first time
in my not so long life,
I was not constrained;
and sitting on a not made bed
that was not quite yet mine
in a room with a phone
that I could not work,
I realized that I was free
to do,
to be,
to destroy
what i wanted,
and as i sat on the not made bed,
not sleeping,
i was not afraid;
i was terrified.
Day: March 1, 2010
The Frozen Mud
poetryI saw at my foot footprints, en-
cased in muted mud, mid-step mire set silently within
A topography of time, a grey ground frozen
The echoes of shoes–seemingly size ten–a lasting last impression
A patch work of paw prints, wildly weaves widely again and again
The bike tire’s vast, violent arc cuts with impatient determination
Across orphan patches of untouched earth. My eyes enliven
This sculpted ground–shadows casting imagination!
Marvelous movements of time and space, run, ride, reel, and hark!
See the life that lives on lunar land: when you think
the play’s performed, this spectral stage stirs the heart!
This makes me wonder: what traces of invisible ink
You left upon the blue-blank pages of that air afar;
And should I see could I read or would I–sink?
the sieve and the sand 