Monday, February 16, 2009
it’s not the tractor in the fog, the faint percussion in the middle ear, muted and dispersed, popping johnny’s progeny, john deere’s plowbeam, soil-polished plowshare, twelvebottom moldboard suited to the plains. soothing reassurance, stitching air and land, an earthy first fragrance permeates, loess and loam, gasoline, oiled gunny, sweat and rain. it’s not the moiled […]
Saturday, February 14, 2009
ralph waldo emerson walks across the bare common, the distant edge of winter, cold, a blue-gray twilight pallor caught in the fold of blustery clouds pressing down, the mind at a loss to find any special good fortune, thought, in the dross of the day. granulated snowflakes scour, hold to the tips of fallow […]
Friday, February 13, 2009
She asks you how you’re able to be alone so much. You’re good at it, upbringing. Mama told you once, remember: early spring, the cold sunny, dormant playground, harsh, the moan and whistle of northwest wind through telephone wires, sycamore leaves not yet unrolled– nothing moves, nothing to grab and hold, the desolate […]