Ah. So I guess I retreated once again into a fog, a cave, a secret but not entirely safe place. Now, today pull myself back to the light. I loose days with my (slow) pace while the world spins over a thousand miles per hour, seventeen miles a minute. It circles the sun at 67,000 mph (17 miles per second). The sun circles the galaxy at 450,000 mph which is 125 miles per second. How can I keep up?

At that pace, how can I find you? The days offer no revelations. And nights hide all but the road, the lighted path. I let gravity coax me along a spiral trajectory to ride a corkscrew’s cutting edge. I seek comfort in dark canopies and closed eyes. And surrender to quiet spaces, dark retreats.


I started a message but it turned into something else. I thought it might expand like the universe as a poem through time. It might find a way to you. A comet tumbles from beyond Kuiper to careen close enough to ignite a long luminous banner to unfurl in the solar wind as it slingshots around the 450,000 miles per hour sun. Near death, a brush with annihilation. Along a dark path. I (did get kind of lost those last days and) struggled through them. Nothing though like a near-fatal crash. A bit melodramatic in comparison.


Summer unravels

13 1207 097This writing emerged during a remission from depression, which usually flares for me in autumn. Here is recognition and acknowledgement of my condition, one that afflicts far too many of us, while living in the moment.


the full moon sets, shrouded this

morning by pale fog. somehow

these days warm to somewhere

around hot. autumn has

grown beyond subtle hints.

summer unravels as sycamore 

leaves turn red, curl and drop.

birch leaves yellow but shimmer

and hiss in the light breezes

that occasion afternoons.

invariably with this season

melancholy rides the fog and

settles on my skin, permeates

my mood. but vague this year,

distant, it skirts the background,

without commanding attention.

No One Listened

Photo Jan 16, 5 10 53 PM

No one listened as Vincent struggled

painting the sunset world. It descended

like the end of night breaking against

the east horizon igniting again another

day. The palette grew from shades of

indigo splashed by starry light high above

shadowy cypress blades stab the

darkness, propping a last gasp of night

before morning flowers open. Sunflowers.

He sighed, Vincent, like a mother

holding new-born day hungry to paint

the mundane veiled quietly from blue

to cooling wisps of now succumbing

to pale feathers of dreams and vivid

imagination bright as primary color

arching across the sky bent through distant

mist swirling drifts in constant motion.

Night clung to Vincent even as

mid day erupted dispelling

for everyone else the last

tendrils of chill. He walked

cold Arles streets among

winter silhouettes past

leaf hidden flower plots,

sleeping earth. No one

noticed the oblique rays

piercing bleeding vivid

autumn color to pastel.

Then  dark winter hues.

Vincent wondered, When

will color return?. Then

decided to bring it himself.



Dog 5: Dog Circles

This is the last post of the dog series to be shared for awhile. The image is somewhat incongruent. It is meant to show what a formidable beast the Dog is. Thank you. My next post will take a definite change of tone.ry w savanna

Dog circles, follows his tail and lays

on the carpet. By the door. Licks the

rug like a cat bath, like his empty ball

sack. Like a wound. Dog sighs and

wishes he had meat. Or cheese. Then

lowers his head. Rests his chin on the

carpet. Soon Dog begins to dream he

is a colossal beast. He is Cerberus guarding

Hades. No living postman shall pass. Dog

can’t count so has a single head. Even

so, Dog guards the entrance as a dam

blocks a river. His snores are earthquakes.

Dog’s farts are noxious volcanic gas.

Birds pass out and fall from the trees.



Dog 4: Dog Growls

ry groans

Dog growls in his sleep, an

exhausted groan. Dog dreams

of a great bear, a whitish bear

lumbering from green patches

surrounded by ice to the horizon.

Dog doesn’t move but as he sleeps

his paws twitch. A postman approaches.

A tiny speck of blue-grey leaning

into the wind-driven snow. Dog

calls to him, warns him. This is

dog’s land. Dog farts, continues

to sleep, dreaming of hot summer

barbecues and charred scraps of meat.

Dog’s tail sweeps slowly left to right.



Dog 3: Dog’s Ears

2014-12-13 14.59.48

Dog’s ears quietly ping the

foggy air beyond the walls and

sliding glass door. Scan like

radar. Then suddenly snap erect

at the sound of food hitting the

bottom of his bowl. Whether the

soft slap of liquid, the toccata of

kibble, welcome tap of left-overs,

or soft plopping canned food. All

are better than a walk in the woods.

Dog’s paws twitch but he waits

as if he doesn’t care. He resists

jumping to all fours. Dog takes

his time. Slowly stands, stretching

like a yogi: nonchalant as a cat.



Dog 2: Dog Lays

2014-12-13 14.04.33

Dog lays by the fireplace

a hulking polar bear in

light from a midnight sun.

Dog’s stomach growls

like a hunter. But Dog

can’t be bothered to stand

to walk out into the icy

yard even to pee. Dog

growls in his sleep when

he hears the postman’s

truck stop in front and

its sliding door rumble.

Dog no longer runs

with hackles raised at the

sound of mail dropping.



1 dec 16