06/29
the moon looks like it belongs in some vampire movie. a sliver in the southwest corner of god's celestial canvas, tumultuous and brooding clouds below--deep purple with red undergarments--and clear just above the horizon. it's early morning and my ride has arrived. i suppose i cannot paint the sky or the moon without some measure of tragedy.
07/03
i have every intention of climbing down into the valley today, but most importantly, i have every intention of climbing back out.
each step is deliberate.
07/05
who wouldn't want to be the their own creator? in the realm of language, i can be a queen, and more! i am exactly natural, exactly exacting. true flowing.
07/06
we who push along through our days.
the mountain is very imposing this morning and my heart hangs heavy in it's cage.
07/11
there are salutations slung over her shoulder like second thoughts.
how do you get the feel without the touch?
07/20
there is air trapped in my spine. i try to exhale but perhaps its the change in elevation that is pressurizing me. and i'm pressured to be as great as my name--the most glorious sunrise--but i don't feel so glorious sometimes.
muzzle to your throat, my muzzle to your throat. so soft, so soft i think it's butter cream frosting. butter cream and my muzzle sniffing at your secrets.
fog. its as if i'm in a snow globe. i half expect to see a huge, hungry eye waiting to see if i move then shake up the globe to see whose really playing dead. and i am expected to emerge from the fog a moving and heartbreaking creature, something like a glorious sunrise.
it's not the inhale i'm having trouble with, it's the exhale. bubbles in the spine, some prehistoric condition of the bends.
i remain a land locked line unable to return to the ocean but always, always flinting at its shore, squiggly, squiggly little wave want-to-be.
the mountain is a stallion i palm and pet. and he breathes softly under me. today we are one, mountain and me.
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