I want to trade the game I play for shelter.

It's hard to hold the hand of anyone
who is reaching for the sky just to surrender.

Things that rhyme with echo.

Hey, where'd everybody go?

Don't mind the weather.

I took my brother fishing today. Packed a lunch and sat on the lake shore reading Bukowski. The sun was hot and the wind was cold and strong enough to make a train whistle over the top of my glass soda pop bottle.

And we'll remember this when we are old and ancient.

It would be so easy to drift day to day without thinking. It was never a temptation until now. I remember the dream where your name was Ghost. Now in my dreams I meet my ancestors. They are dismayed when I tell them I don't recognize them.
Before each decision I make, I ask myself, is this the brave thing to do? It's an exhausting way to live.
Then I can't even sleep because that would be self-defeating.

Blue skies are coming.

The idea is not to cause suffering. There are cycles, there is symbiosis, there are deep breaths, but also a bit of an ache to this emptiness.


I don't think that it's the end,
but I know we can't keep going.

Whippoorwill.

I came home wearing a white dress and a scratchy tweed jacket that does not belong anybody. There was Tennessee Williams light in the living room, a gold block transfused with the static blue light I wish didn't belong to our generation.
I recognized "Danny Boy" in Johnny Cash's voice immediately, never had heard it before. But now I hear the cover of "I'm So Lonesome I Could Cry", a song I probably heard a hundred times before my first memory, each time on the same old speakers.
Just standing there, I could have cried forever.
And you ask "In a good way or bad?"

The glory, the tragedy.

Yesterday it stormed and my fear was shallow.
I am detached and when I hear my own voice it's all I can do but wonder what can be done to stop its spread. I am the oil spill out on the water, right above the water.

That’s my life, nothing is sacred.

Apple blossoms are probably the most wonderful thing in the world.
Also the anonymous child by the side of the road grinning with her stubby fingers in a peace sign. I don't mind being sick if I can sing along to Bob Dylan and sound the same.