fight or flighthttp://www.flickr.com/photos/odelot/3963337732/mine is to row among beaststhe rest wicked and rummagingbelow the surface where man once triumphantslain the last horse to stay warmand married himself into a lonely despairwithout faith or worsewithout spirit and drunkenhis stoop became bareso here he is left alonewith a device as simpleand unforgiving as his imaginationfueled with the renewable half lifeof old hardback novels
KNITTING WITHOUT LOOKINGHands on the needlesclickity-clackSoon they've knitteda gunny sackA pair of socks or agiant bagThere's no tellingonce the fingers wagI must've been sevenon the Vancouver ferrywhen I saw a woman on itknitting in a flurrylooking straight aheadinstead of looking down I asked her how she did itand she said without a frown"I live in a lighthouseand I have to keep a lookoutfor boats on the rocksso I learned to knit withoutlooking"
a pebble carried across the beachlistens to the rolling wavescertain she was your Chateauswells the heart within one's villaa rose to the camera lensstare at the geese abovewolf down the flows of wine while gleaming starlight touches the bayyearning lies in the glistening tide
http://www.flickr.com/photos/querelle/3965529057/july thirteenth. ten p.m. dear tomas:i spent the whole day on my back. does it please you to know i am not illor fucking old charles, who still comes to dale hollow with that irish wolfhound?today i went out to the water’s edge,laid supine on the paint-peeled boards,and splayed my limbs wide on the pier.i longed for you to look in on me like god or a google earth satellite.
Is this what your insides look like?deep down grinning beautybut brittle and colorless all the same?your stereo crackles with windin its hollows, this you're ok with.so we went apple picking yesterday, me putting them on and you pluckingthem off, then slept so warmin the tall grass that I thought the sun was there.