just rings right this morning. Rain and walking or the thread of each thing as it gets stretched into another day–a mess of crossed strings a person can tangle further. Pay attention with your gut like the president used to and all that happens is wrapped in toilet paper–padded disposal, an army of water droplets, the cat’s numb whiskers getting placed back into its formerly live skin, glue and a steadied head. We are not sound here–infirm ranchers. The weather calls us down, calm and then rageful. I am a foreigner, too. In all cases the animals are home, ranging.
Monthly Archives: June 2009
all the things gathered round us
devices plant into the corner for record and the light–say legs do this moronic motion of up-down-up and we grow thick in the thigh, almost herculean in this expanded body.
Ok, so what’s really going on is that I’m not in training to become a long distance bicyclist, though I wish I were so this middling expansion would contract. But we did find a new place to reside and we’re waiting to hear back on the application. Tomorrow and crossing fingers. No job yet, but that’ll settle itself when it does and I’ll rest with it.
I’d show pictures but don’t want to risk too much showy talk and have it disappear. I want to spend some time on a small boat trying to catch fish. And then building them little houses inside my gut. The news said no striped bass for children and only 4 servings of large bluegill per human adult per year. What did we do without the news?
Here’s looking up from the bottom of a bottle: or not–the picture won’t load…