Tuesday

http://walking.myphotoalbum.com/

Tuesday

Sunday

Thursday

You have to look at a fucking Lion

Look at a fucking lion. to see

You look like a lion. at your age, my friend.

at my age.

in the sunshine.

you have to smile in the spring.

Tuesday

Sunday

Eden is.

Wednesday

morning warmth

light

on a cool cheek

Monday

This exists.

I was there.

I saw it.

See me?

See it.

It's there.

It's everywhere.

Today I saw a cat watch a cat watch a cat watch me watch cats. Too much cats.

Tyrannus Tyrannus

Eastern Kingbird(brain)

Tuesday

today

was heavy

with light sighs

Monday

an ancient coolness

on bare feet

the roar of a waterfall




you were right
about what?
the rain

Saturday

tea in a coffee shop. my table leans to the left. there's a man watching me watch people. who's creepier? it's two o'clock.

yesterday I shaved my head. halfway. today I'm sharing a moment with a French woman, hair to her knees! perhaps she's Italian.

Thursday

a sad-eyed baby
with red hair
walking like an old man

a wild-eyed old man
with white hair
walking like a baby

Tuesday

you dance when you walk
you would fly
if you could

there is a point
when sunsets are not sunsets
the sun just sets

Friday

moonrise over the Atlantic --
punctuation
at the beginning of a sentence

Monday

watching a storm roll in
across the lake
then trying to outrun it

wild, dew-covered blueberries
stain my fingers
and harvesting basket

Thursday

climbing beanstalks
with a giant
who has the quickest hands?

waiting --
eating fresh peas
on a stranger's stoop

what lovely people
and their faces!
still more rain falls

Wednesday

muddy hands
leave muddy handprints
-- it's rained for days

the farmer sits
on an upturned bucket
recounting dreams

Saturday

blues
in a blue room
without shoes

Sunday

startled
by a crow's footsteps
overhead

my footsteps --
percussion
or bass-line?

Friday

walking home
this evening --
a jack of spades

Wednesday

a seedling --
it's either a squash
or it's not

Sunday

waiting in a crowd
distracted by
red and blue rogue balloons

at a traffic light
in a suit
wearing his weathered pick-up

Friday

this afternoon
the slaying
became a siege

Wednesday

yesterday
I heard the sun set
over Sebago Lake

a gnarled root
like Shiva
stands in the row

Monday

Dear Maxfield,
tonight I saw
your sky.

walking home
the woods were silent
for a moment

excuse me, sir
I like how erect you sit
especially in the morning

Sunday

tall grass waves
in the breeze --
I wave back

last night
I froze
in a deer's headlights

the wind blew so hard
my thoughts
scattered

when I'm not there
the sun is still setting
over the lake

Tuesday

the day feels
heavy
in my boots

Monday

this morning I woke up
and climbed out from under
a thick blanket of snow

outside, the wind
hums
a perfect C

Sunday

is it a beginning
or an end
bland banana oatmeal

in the dark
colors
don't exist

I feel old
what's it like, mom?
is it lonely?

Friday

I felt like God
you thought
no one was watching

this afternoon
I loafed
with Henry Thoreau

if only
you had
looked up

Thursday

two old men
with Ph. D's
waxing nostalgic

Tuesday

the same sun shines
on an unfamiliar place
making anywhere home

Tuesday morning leisure
breakfast and a stroll
week days proven arbitrary

Monday

a grove of scented evergreens
hastily shoved
into a taxi's glovebox

Saturday

in the stall next to you
showers sharing drains
I'm naked

Friday

the ball's in my court
too bad
we're not playing tennis

Thursday

walking to class
the heavy snowflakes falling
glorified rain

student activists rant
predicting environmental apocalypse
--snow dances outside my window

tonight's frigid wind
a hooded thief
robs me of my breath

scents of hookah smoke
hang in my hair
as I drift into sleep