That cold breeze,
hands in pockets,
shivering spines,
warm wool sweaters,
north face jackets,
waiting for that white powder,
fresh, for angels to appear.

Ten Pounds

watching seeds grow in salted sand,
hands reaching up, pulling at our shoe strings,
tying knots to keep us close,
gravity is a lust of one's inner being,
those that stay are
those that are condemned and those
that evoke the worldliness of faith.
Faith, what a clumsy word.
heard it too many times
running out that old steel storm door,
hands clasp, knees throbbing,
Sunday morning crucible, and I speak on
what I do not know.
So what if I don't want to be?
What if he didn't want to be when he was all alone?
I saw him in my dream
and felt the world hum.


Oh these roots. these roots keep me close to home,
humble and away from the road.

Just as we are, and am, variables and space. Who are we kidding? It's been you and always you.

What if I don't want to be? What if he didn't want to be when he was all alone? I saw him in my dream....I felt the world hum.