post equinal slumber

and now, the time between frozen seasons
the period berfore the snow and below zero temperatures
we are prepared early this winter, cxonditioned
to expect the worse, as the world, as the macrocosm
seems topsy turvey, the fox and raven make more sene, as does the
plump spruce hen, who flock around the house in morning
sporting checkered coats
they will be dinner during the appocalypse, we'll also have stewed blueberiies
and wild honey, and coal fired stoves, cranking out the btu's
and somwhere in the distance there will be a radio tuned to the pirate blues

bullets or butter

bullets or butter, the campaign must continue
as the 35 year old man is weened from his mothers breast
The wars continue, and there sionly natural catastrophe
to make this world complete. Last night a murder of ravens
and the full monn kepping me awake, the house is
too warm for early witer--I crave the chil and the ice
I prefer the aurora speak to me in purple ribbons
of telepathic communication, like two lovers
who admire one another from afar,
the twilight of stars, and the wink from
a strangers eye, the comet passes,
the moon lingers on new ice, this morning
a single raven listens to my radio, it is stilkl
hot, the windows are open, a few snow flakes fall
the dog lets out a pathetic howl
notzahia and the kids drive the mid october valley
in the white volvo, she must nurse her friends baby
dad sits home sick, sipping coffee and giving up procrastination
for good. tomorrow I'll start my memoir, write a play,strum the guitar...

cake

as winter approaches I find myself craving
the peak darkness of the winter solstice,
the time when twilight is
reduced to a spark, and the edge of my becoming
has been eclipsed by postponment
nothing can be until the fertile season returns
,meanwhile alifetime of dreaming and
then the cold spell mus tbe endured, this fear of the elements
equates to the fear of death, as
one who is drunk with hypothermia, would rather
sleep curled in a ball upon the snow
until consumed by a primordial flame
and then the breathe is extinguished,
the candle snufffed, the spirit spills into
the universe effervescent, I lie
in my bed, reminding myself to savor life
to postpone the anxious hours and
once again learn to live, today I really want
to ski but outside there are only rocks
and a sugary spill of snow, this dog will
have his day, this sadness can be defered
to the next world, Today Ill eat winter
like a piece of cake, before winter like
a phantom eats me

Happy Creek

"To write well
is the best
revenge"
the kid reminds
me,a phrase from
his father who filched
it from a mens magazine

or perhaps
it was francis bacon
who ghostwrote
the music
of my soul
here
before the blue spark

that
becomes
winter, the seeds
are planted

in this polarized universe
where I slumber
anxiously
the summertime perambulations
letting emotion simmer and steep
until the vacume explodes
like a jar of puple berries
inside of the hissing
pressure pot

these are just
memories
viewee instead
of the clock
of constant loss
prepare for a season
of greatness
the alarm unwinds
her golden hammer

back to that kid
The feds through
his dad in the clink
for a million dollar
growing operation,
the seeds were planted,
the families assets were
confiscated
the greenhouses were
auctioned for pennies
on the dollar,

this here in the goldstream
valley

freeze up

unreqited river of unkowing
the swamp and the murk
cold grey water,
branches and trees
birch and spruce
floating the channel
surrendering to perpetual water
chunks of river bank mud
calveing into the glacier fed
tributary, blue silt
pulling us downward to
an even cooler sea
a future life
immersed beneath the
snowcovered ice
breathe pusating
within the briney
clockwork