May 2012
22 posts
Leaving the mountains,
headed to the one mountain
that gives them meaning.
Last night in BV.
Too fast, too much, too packed. But:
exactly perfect.
Tonight I’ll sleep by
the river. Goodbyes will lap
the shore till morning.
Sunshine, dirt—these the
only remedy for clean
days, florescent light.
Night hike: eight miles
in snow, looking for one small
camp, one small sister.
This day redeemed by
the shared quiet of two types
of friends: books, people.
Trail Haikus:
Day 1:
Forgot iodine,
ran back to the trailhead. Not
one without water.
Day 2:
I thought I could make
three days without opening
my heart to these girls.
Day 3:
The point of llamas
is to carry packs, not to
make me carry them.
Maybe I’m getting
old. I love a soft place to
sleep, hot meals, showers.
Low water. Blisters.
Pray for rain, even snow, just
not while I’m rafting.
Morning run through the
graveyard, mountains covered with
clouds. This might be home.
Yoga romp dance hair
all over dat livin room
we are young we free
Today, my boss said
I looked too tired to work.
Mini-vacation.
Back on the river.
Tomorrow I will ache with
muscle memory.
An update: summer
haikus may or may not be
on time. Traveling.
The one consistent
force, right now, in my whole life,
is kindness—God’s, man’s.
Moving: life Jenga:
my bed doesn’t fit around
saying long goodbyes.
Yes, and nights like this.
Speak yes, and wow, and thank you,
wanderlust and skies.
Packing up my room,
the white walls cast me out. I’m
already homesick.
Courage, adventure,
play—the nouns of summer take
so much energy.
For Stanley Fish, on the eve of my Literary Theory exam:
I’m making art in
a vacuum. Really—I found
one, climbed in, so there.
Victory’s in sight!
Slippery little bastards,
words, but I’m hopeful!
Ode to finals week:
I am so swept up in you,
I don’t sleep at night.
April 2012
30 posts
bright white new shoe sore
foot push through grey rain no pain
throb hot freedom vein
Ode to the corner
of the library in which
I work: I love you.
the nuzzle, as a
socially normal act of
love or affirmation
Those used to be my
nerve endings, that smouldering
mound of gathered ash.
I can feel summer
walking softly up behind
me, whispering, play.
The fire hydrant,
the water flooding the street:
I’m soaked in my youth.
the healing power
of two cups of coffee and
an honest hour
Too busy all day,
with nothing to show from it
yet. Hashtag, Wheaton.
Two hours late for
my haiku—yesterday’s joy
overflowed the day.
Schizophrenia,
another word for writing.
Then all truth breaks out.
it might was shakespeare
child, things are gonna get
easier one day
Broke the manniquin
at CPR training. A
bad sign for real life?
butterfly, baby,
you and me we got the right
idea ‘bout wings
Each spoken word shifts
the unseen continuum
towards full disclosure.
I am the youngest
child of countless works of
fiction, book brothers.
My story is not
every story. But it is
true. And it’s not done.
Diabolical
little pronoun, us, drawing
lines across the air.
A day of surprise:
what good father wouldn’t just
give his son a fish?
I would feel better
if I could offer even
five loaves and two fish.
These days the pool feels
so deep. And treading water
is great till you can’t.
My superhero
of choice would be MetaGirl,
who could transcend all.
Someone asked today
if I was aware I am
living a charmed life.
These unexpected gifts:
a long dock talk, ginger beer,
laughter, a ride home.
Jesus Christ, Son of
the living God, have mercy
on me, a sinner.
We waited, we watched.
We received nothing but great
anticipation.
You are no game to
me, like free verse was to Frost,
tennis with no net.
Curiosity,
he said, as a choice. And not
being an asshole.
Michael Rohd, about conducting interviews
Meta-flash-fiction:
this prophecy will be self-
fulfilling. Right now.