Sixty Degrees

There is a man,
There.
Seen in everything,
& hard to see
When the weather is warm,
& the ground is cold.

There is a body,
There.
A figure-
Strong & seeking service.

Stare

Let me walk away from you,
& I will draw a map.

I will tell you it is tiresome,
& in the same way I hope to chart,
I long to fog my mirror-
To cover it with gentle breadth.

This will be chronicled by one,
He who has a fly in his eye,
& can orient

Animus

It had snowed,
& it was night time.
We did not know it yet,
but this was, or is, or could be-
Revisited.

Tho- I am alone, & Above & I am moving
without my legs below me.
The hill is marked by dirt,
& tall grasses untended to.

I move, there-
with two young boys sitting at the base of my neck.
They do not see me, nor I them,
& they do not feel the cold.

& I see it, then-
There-
& I know, now, what to say.

"When I was your age, there were shapes."






*Written following the dream I had. The night of 12/21/2012

New Years Eve

We showed up yesterday,
& Jesus was in the room.
I missed his entrance,
but he saw me-
He put the felted womb over my head
& asked me if I was warm,
& did I feel comfortable?

An Introduction

Man, the imperfect librarian.
Man, the retired salesman,
with neither money nor clothes.

When it rains,
It is better to sit with the salamanders.




January 27, 2013