before the first adversaries appear, when the path is still a magic carpet and has yet to reveal its serpentine coils.
Category: epigrams and conundrums
It was only when I switched to unlined paper
that the poems began to come without being called.
Teeth sprung from their skull prisons
enjoy a second obsolescence as typewriter keys.
On a friend’s kitchen counter,
three potatoes had gone feral, growing ghostly branches out of their eyes. I kept my shirt pulled down so my navel wouldn’t get any ideas.
For a moment I forgot where I was,
the familiar trail colored by my train of thought, which might take me anywhere.
In my dream the creek says:
I am not your pet. I can rise. In one afternoon I can take back everything I’ve laid down for a thousand years.
Someday when the world is entirely covered with roads,
there won’t be any place left to visit—and therefore no reason to ever slow down.
Of all doomed friendships,
none is more tragic than that between a compulsive blurter and an obsessive brooder.
Walking in the snow,
one feels at times barely tethered to the earth.
At the silent vigil
we brought our words folded up like dangerous umbrellas.
With one foot in this world
and the other foot, too, in this world, I am learning to love the dailyness of my walks.
There was a time
when nearly everyone shared a knowledge of what the Bible said and an ignorance of what it meant.
