It’s all or nothing
most of the time
everything’s cool
then turns on a dime
before you know it
you’re six feet deep
wondering why you spent
half your life asleep
you're behind the wheel
you're behind the plow
they always told you
it’d work out somehow
now time has flown
on ragged wings
and you’re still reaching
for that brass ring
and you never heard
the woodthrush sing
Morning- fire lit. Early fall light flits in bits through yellowing beech leaves. Rust from leak patinas wood stove while sodden wood, just split, barely burns. Books of wisdom and wit stacked on shel
Foot on birch round for lumbar support. Books of Baudelaire Harrison Hesse and Thoreau. Piece of clay pipe And two white shells, found near Cloghane in Brandon Bay, on the desk, with a flattened slug
A cold winter night, and I read your macramé by candle light, listening to L. Cohen’s Famous Blue Raincoat. Thick falling snow quilts a gleaming brain tree shadows stretch, skeins of thought unravel t