Day 72
sing metal hull sing
on choppy spring waters
‘Sweet Surrender’ playing on the old radio:
down here where the rain makes sense
nothing wears away so fast yet more
vanishes every day, these bones, this skin
erodes and none of it means
much of anything at all
Day 73
dream then: a new eclipse
a downpour, a shadow
walk like new-Earthers
amidst the wasting world, old boots
across cracked cement conquered
by crabgrass and goose shit
but even still, there will be signs
that once people grew wings
and took flight
Day 74
breath deep into old machines
wait out the rust, that stink
of dead, gutted fish
unrealized dreams as we take up
pot metal swords we will play with
in the 2nd age of a bewildering childhood
Day 75
a world shrinks to pocket-sized
boiled down and dehydrated
and we must put on tired boots
take up our packs
discover a new one
Day 76
locked in and devoid of a season
drive headlong through a dirty rain
like dream fish fighting up river
home is there somewhere
under the world’s great wound
Tag Archives: seasons
Days 2025: Winter (61-62)
Day 61
cross currents run through
this sinew, these bones
Day 62
the air before rain held
that faint scent of fresh turned earth
and warm rain on tired cement
driving to meet a friend for coffee
50° this October morning. Gram Parsons on the radio singing about his hour of darkness. Turning off the Woodlawn Bridge out of the neighborhood and onto Crittenden, the UPS hanger looms large in the foreground. Clouds in the horzion hang like familiar mountains I haven’t visited in far too long, the road through I once walked where I met my devil. The land between a wide river I am still learning to cross.
(for JP Wright)