enjoy a second obsolescence as typewriter keys.
Category: forest
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.
such flakes
they can’t possibly be gathering
all on their own
mass extinction
all the empty beds
standing on end
Walking in the snow,
one feels at times barely tethered to the earth.
spelling out fences
the immaculate ignorance
of snow
At the silent vigil
we brought our words folded up like dangerous umbrellas.
gone back to woods
all that’s left is location
location location
With one foot in this world
and the other foot, too, in this world, I am learning to love the dailyness of my walks.
