You really haven’t lived
until you’ve watched a rainstorm
from an open garage door
on a farm in western Vermont
with a mason jar of Argentinian wine
in your dry hand, post-peak foliage.
Currently reading:
“Don Quixote” by Miguel de Cervantes.
You really haven’t lived
until you’ve watched a rainstorm
from an open garage door
on a farm in western Vermont
with a mason jar of Argentinian wine
in your dry hand, post-peak foliage.
Currently reading:
“Don Quixote” by Miguel de Cervantes.
Going to market
or gallows
the same:
This facelessness endures/
Dehumanization.
(They beg for more.)
Don't ask him
to break stride
while appeasing a Pisces
with a lust for the sea.
Be part of the process
but not the Machine.
In the bowels
of a storage unit
I puked into during a move
eleven years back
I find a pristine tackle box
that he made for me
decades ago:
brand new lures
a stainless steel filet knife (made in China)
pliers without rust
sinkers not attached to my ankles.
If only he'd helped
prepare me
for more
than the fish I'd never chase.
Currently reading:
"The Dark Half" by Stephen King.
The artist tried to warn me
on the gripe with purple ink.
I look now at my shoulder
where my skin has faded: pink.
Currently reading:
"Rattle: Summer 2020."