lines for days

04/23
--sometimes you have to quiet the artist to give yourself some peace

--just annie dillard, mary oliver and me having coffee in the grass marveling at the weeds and the casting of shadows across the bare backs of pill bugs blind as moles.  my life would be poetry and life questioning/life affirming essays.  me and two women i'd never met but liked instantly, who love the natural world as much as i do and chose as their prayer the written word.  what a world that would be!

05/01
--every reflective surface is a camera.

05/17
--there is no quiet greater than this.
--i leave my book open to the sky.  maybe inspiration with drop down into it. 
--headlong into the fog, driving into the white heart of the moon.

06/02
--clouds like suggestions, pauses, petite sighs lingering about the necks of mountains all flustered from an Eastern sun.

06/06
--burger bun lips
--the light illuminates the house of majesty within me.

06/08
--we shed the road like a snake does his skin.
06/16
--the sky has a hole in it.  is it big enough to swallow me?  to swallow a swallow as a friend once put it?  the light proves to be an enemy, to worry about being seen--illumination--when i want only to gaze out from my underwater cave, to shrink in the darkness and marvel at the light, singularly without any witnesses to my meditations. 

--the lava landscape is a delicious tiramisu; it's multitude of layers all set in fog or delineated by it. 

--i am overwhelmed at the steady disintegration of the moon.  will it go extinct?
06/20
--i was so deep in my thoughts and in my writing that when i looked up from the page i was astonished to discover the world was still there.

06/23
--oh the miracle of breathing! 

06/24
--we are strange, we people types, we watching sorts.
--i am intimate loneliness
--and again the wonder
--an old moon picks things out of his ears and a young man sits in front of me.  i blow an ant from my knuckle. 

06/28
--a foggy morning makes it difficult to breathe.  it's as if the world is holding it's breath and i'm a trapped molecule hung up in the bronchial of some master plan whose exhalation is long overdue.