Writer of short fiction, poetry, and editorials.

With Aristotle

Aristotle in the back yard instead of raking the leaves that crackle and rustle under foot

Supposing that knowledge is one of those things that is fine and valuable

Considering each thought as it comes to mind – wondering if, fleetingly or otherwise, each is an action unto itself

Of these some are held to be affections peculiar to the soul itself, others belong to the animals

Falling behind the effort to keep pace as the awareness of every moment’s passing stacks upon its predecessor

the inquiry, that is, about substance and what a thing is — perhaps someone might think

Thinking about thinking, thoughts about thoughts, daydreams dangle loosely and tangle into knotty heaps

For straightness is inseparable if indeed it is impossible without a body

A murder of crows acts as a distraction and an awareness of my re-action drives me inside to seek refuge from the endless possibilities

Lean Ether

open to a blank page just in case
just in case this document is ready to become a documentation
a documentation of that which is already happening, in progress
a contemporaneous convergence, if you will.

crude, and yet we all agree: Beautiful
though beautiful hardly fits the bill as an attempt at describing
describing but just scratching the surface, grazing the veneer
these are the words. this is the phrasing.

each line is a happening in it self
itself taking shape as the words spill out and spill onto
spill onto and across in the form of a poem, fashion a verse
make from nothing but the words in my head: Something.

Catbird

there’s a catbird in the Xylosma
not nesting, exactly, but living
or hiding from the rain that’s recently returned
after just one day to drain
assess the damage and be thankful for none

the catbird flits about
and I can’t decide if
it is doing so nervously
or in a rather cavalier fashion
chi-chi-chippering away
either to herself or at me

she’s peeking through the cool dark of her dense shelter
from branch to branch hopping
getting up to eye level
maybe to assess the threat
and be thankful for none

I, perhaps nervously, step away
from the bulging hedge
begging to be pruned
pack a bowl
and smoke it
as the catbird looks on

In Between

driving
but dilly-dallying
really
daydreaming
over the hills
the miles of vines
the corners of which I’m cognizant
but just barely
the dead barn owl with one wing flapping in the breeze of a car just gone by
the cows
cute but stinky
and thankfully organic
the jibber-jabber on the radio
the cool rush of air from the window on the far side of the truck
the miles
really
the miles
they rush at me and under me and into infinity beyond the back bumper
and then the sun pushing up and into
pushing
the sky in the mirrors brightens and lightens and makes itself known
and when I look up at the mountain range that stands between me and the massive expanse of Pacific
the fog just barely spilling over
pink

Source Code

unbending on breaking into a series of handshakes and deals
contracts written into existence post facto
words situated to fit the situation just as the unfolding takes place
(is this equal and opposite?)
more than making a fuss over
this documentation
more than just a casual observation

the parties involved take parts neither are quite sure of
the definitions of which lay unfinished in a heap somewhere
notes scribbled, things referred to as “paperwork”
ellipses taking the place of, or implying meaning where any has yet to settle despite the appearance of agreement or sense of propriety

this is where bleak formality is layered in
where the comfort of conformity trumps the ideas of action
where the questions, in all the forms they’re known to adopt
whether posture or postulation, blossom into a thing more important than that for which they strive
– the answer is the terminal, the question, the journey

between that which is developing
the cause and effect
the nuance
the roles implemented
the desire to imagine
to backfill and anticipate that which is not apparent, becomes the beauty of the action taken
makes connections
makes that upon which we endeavor a voyage instead of mere motion.

Remembering Mason’s Stoup

The colony provides a certain sense of security.
We dreamed of boundaries
and of distance, of lines imparted on charts
scrawled
and, then often
reconfigured on what would eventually
become the maps on which we base various aspects of our
belief systems.

These are just lines, you see,
on paper
no less
or cloth
divined not by the hand of God mind you, but out of a vague mix of un-knowing perceived advantage
& the kind of greed inspired by what must have been thought of at the time as an infinite resource.

On one side of any given line
imagined, drawn, or published
capacities are anticipated
territories squeezed into acres are thought of in terms of
yield & bounty
investment & return
and the dangers of the yet undiscovered.

This is the point where potential is neutral, where there is as much to offer as there is to lose.

Habitation is a state of mind
as is ownership, and claims staked
in the name of…
for the queen of…
with God as our witness.

Imagine the audacity
or was it the will to live(?)
to step
as if naked into what could only be considered the unknown
the planet’s edge
the edge of what could be.

Imagine the dreams
the thoughts of prayers coming true
the wide-eyed wonder of a world brand new.

This is the frying pan.

This is the fire.