An aspen or sycamore expanding

night noise from the garden
turned and twisted my
morning disappointment

and im almost surprised
youve not been burying the
birch or fawns tail without me

where that red frown becomes
clear sumac dawn
and the empty sun itself
wilts everything in October

"The bird fights its way out of the egg. The egg is the world. Who would be born must first destroy a world. The bird flies to God. That God's name is Abraxas." Hermann Hesse Demian


deal out specification in thin thin twinkles
mention light in Nature
or dual amoral nature

using nature itself
to build things with
or wrong yourself in the woods with

off the ego alone
cracking into two egos
with three beings
hating me
or hating what I saw or tried to see
in the owl in the barns opening

I wanna be folk hero
but I can no longer handle the hangovers

I dont know a dam thing about blacksmithing
but
falling off a trailer comes easy
screeching out free bird with Randy
waiting for a limb to heal

the pain killers kick in before breakfast
and a lecture on religion leaves me

laying stiff in the morning dew
my broken foot still broken
the scent of pine still kicking with
my fathers jab in the ribs

I wanna be a folk hero
and I came dam close

last summer
my center torn from night
summer
the orgin and mother of everything
summer
with me in my yard
its many manifestations
a mirror to nature
held under small oak
mirror to excess
mirrors in farmhouses
where light
gives shapes and waves
of joy
from other suns shadows
and from other farmhouses

I wanna be folk hero
but I can no longer handle the hangovers

I dont know a dam thing about blacksmithing
but
falling off a trailer comes easy
screeching out free bird with Randy
waiting for a limb to heal

the pain killers kick in before breakfast
and a lecture on religion leaves me
stiff in the morning dew
my broken foot is still broken
the scent of pine still kicks in the ribs

I wanna be a folk hero
and I came dam close

last summer
my center torn from night
last summer
the orgin and mother of everything
last summer
with me in my yard
its many manifestations
a mirror to nature
I held in my yard
mirror to excess
giving shape in waves
from sun

dark dark green native light
pours from itchy boring timber thicket
the kind of evil that feels good
the kind of poems that whine
and convey whiny ass bitchiness
but still reach out far into the boring mountains
the poor farm house
and my cottonwood

July

night noise from the garden
turned and twisted my
morning disappointment

just over the hill
old birds become
trees
in afternoons lazy half light

almost Surprised by
unknown evening

we look up at what has come
a smooth sun bursting over familiar fields

Wetland

deal out specification in thin thin twinkles
mention light in Nature
using nature itself
build things faster
or leave the things in the woods
to wrong yourself in the woods with
off the ego alone
cracking in two egos
with three beings
hating me
and hate what I saw or tried to see
with the owl who meets what matters
in sunny evil sedges eying the barns opening