You think it is one way. It isn’t, though. It’s an
amalgam, a concantenation. The carnation “Orion”
is one example. The going always more difficult
than it seems from the car,
the underbrush esp. can be wayward
and intricate.

A musical mathematics orchestrates the movement
of the stars. Meaning
remains elusive throughout. Dark matter
is in the end pages.

Dark matter is in the end pages.

Speech is discerned in the little movements
of atoms and loneliness
in the vast empty spaces between
sub-atomic particles.


It is mundane and glorious to behold.


Again, blessed to be here. Grateful. Humbled.
Itchy, anxious, headstrong, willful. Lost.
Did I mention anxious.

Dreamed last night of fishes. Rooms full
of aquariums gone to seed, gone wild. Cross
breedings and mutations and carnage and
wild sea-grasses choking the mechanisms
of the pumps and filters and everywhere
strange fish darting and gasping, their blood-red
gills flexing, eyeing me, their wayward master,
their reluctant and distracted god.

My daughter is like a bear-trap I keep sticking
my paw into. The steel jaws slam shut with a clank
on the bones of my wrist and I must chew through
my arm to get free. But there is no such thing
as free.

She remains impassive and aloof.

While tossing matches at the gas can.

While juggling chainsaws.

Egging on alligators.

She knows that she’s the most dangerous one.


thank god for the yellow liferaft of my tender and stalwart spouse.

there is a tiny paddle and a small packet of chocolate cookies
in the red first aid kit.

between the swells if it is light
we catch glimpses of what might be land…