The fermenting bowl of unripe thoughts

Month: May, 2013

Textbooks filled with carbon and hydrogen, momentary connections

Textbooks filled with carbon and hydrogen, momentary connections made permanent in print. I stared, transfixed to think that such simple bonds held the world together. 


Now to come back to the place where I

Now to come back to the place where I began…

To realize I had written one thousand verbs in pursuit of ghosts. Those days when the perfume of nostalgia was constantly ripe in the recesses of my mind. When I sang accolades of my soft heart. That open, pulsating entity I feared so greatly. But the feeling is ebbing, receding and what is left? What is left. is. chiseled. 

For no man sails back towards the setting sun.









Too long

but you mustn’t let yourself get comfortable

for too long

otherwise you might forget what a splendid feeling a warm shower is to a body that has toiled all day under the bright sun

and you mustn’t let yourself run wild

for too long

otherwise you might forget the way the light slants in the quiet moments of early morning when the world has not woken

Once in a while

Then once in a while, you just get consumed with how delightful the world is

and it could be the most common thing that leaves you feeling full and inspired and melancholy all at once

so that you’re not sure whether you would like to throw your hands into the air and tilt your head back in a howl

or curl into a ball so tight that the world has melted and no one can see your eyelashes dripping salt onto your warm chest

Jan 2 2012

Back then, Morocco, Afghanistan

How exciting to be a man. When the world was still wild. When there was risk in adventure. A life spent bringing goods from place to place, meeting strangers along the way. Dependent upon the hospitality of others.

Nowadays who can speak for the unknown. That thing we feared so greatly that we broke its legs and let them heal improper. So that, even now, its wild gait is affected. 

Short fuse

resembling shades of reckless

I inhale internal combustion

and exhale elementary syllables

too short to count

my fuse unraveling

Tales untold

What at first

light love was whole

prisms unfold

cast fractured shadows

resplendent murmurs

of tales untold


Scrubbed Skies

horizons of honey wheat

chopped short, bristles of brush

scrubbing the sky

a cleansing corollary
mediums of matter
and the earth

births it all
and the sky breaths

and exhales
fowl in flight
and remnants of restless summers