I fill my lungs with air — feel something strange
in there — akin to childhood — a winding stair that clouds
of dream obscure — or an azure tree of stars — fruit ripe
and sure — of one — last — reckoning
February 18, 2020
Canvas 355 — white on black, February 3, 2014
Found years ago in this vintage tome,
opposite The First Kiss — another heaven, perhaps,
but not a sweeter bliss.
Canvas 843 — February 15, 2017
Heaven and Hell
A pebble in a child’s pocket, a feather, a shell.
A child in God’s pocket, a star, a well.
God in a pot on a stove.
Soup in a bowl.
Where is heaven, Master? Where is hell?
And the old man smiled.
I too once asked foolish questions, said he,
And brought his spoon to his mouth.
And when we die, and leave this world?
Maybe when we arrive, we will know.
But for now, I beg of you, please, sit down.
This is better warm, than cold.
Recently Banned Literature, February 15, 2018
The good in these pages has come at a price. The bad is the price. Both are dust. Both are feathers. Both are light on the wind. February 6, 2020 The Power of Decency I look at myself, my rapidly aging body, my limited range of ability, and ask, What, really, is within my power? And the answer is, Decency. At home, online, or in the grocery store, I […]
A little leaf between two pages
A faded drop o’ wine
A little grief ’t time forgot — Mine!
February 1, 2020
Canvas 528 — February 1, 2015
A Passing Disturbance
February 15, 2010
#2 Pencil on 4 x 6 Index Card
Background
Size 58 Luxus hat purchased for 8 rubles
in Echmiadzin, Armenia, 1982
*
I wonder, is it possible to cultivate a patience so gentle and profound that it outlives the flesh? Or is patience a pond we bathe in, and cannot defile with our death? We were greeted by a friendly, talkative woodpecker yesterday near Goose Lake — a young bird more intent on socializing than carrying on its regular craft and trade. Watching us from a bare trunk not five feet away, […]
Who knows why, but this morning I find myself thinking about jackrabbits, vineyards, and dust. These are but a few significant emblems of my childhood, which, rather than ending, gradually became the insanity I labor under today. Polliwogs, crawdads, slow-moving mossy water. The sound of our tractor in the distance, the tractor and my father pursued by a cloud of blackbirds looking for bugs, seeds, and worms. As I look […]
We always think it’s someone else. But it isn’t.
O hate! O love! O death! O war!
January 8, 2020
Canvas 1,128 — January 8, 2018
It needed many years, but when I finally realized that as a writer I would not be famous or successful in a way that would pay the bills, and when I understood what a lucky thing that was, the self-imposed burden of the idea fell away, leaving me light, free, ready, and glad for whatever may come. Painful as it was, I do not regret the process; I am not […]
