316 - 320

grocery aisle convo

my mind shops for

your name

your name is in

my mouth, a tooth

or a marble

sunshine or comet

a coat's brass button

shed, dropped

together alone

we stare at the sinking moon

a single footstep

chickadees bound bound

toward invisibility

knots on trees sing, blink

311 – 315

baby birds

all eyes, beak, closed and quiet

CHECK IT OUT! I yell.

birds

suspended in a gale

yes, but

requite, not quite

dead one more does

not to life

the others bring

a blue jay rests

black power lines sway

blue sky blue sky blue sky

another day here

and there and there and there

gray haired dandelions

306 - 310

lights on

on a parked car

footsteps halted

having dined alone

belly full of toast

sink full of crumbs

watched

we watched

a hawk

paper

creased creased creased

i check my phone

blue shells

bounded by

blue sky

301 - 305

like listening

the quiet that hugs the sound

lips on teeth

race horses coursing

steam trains kicking up black dirt

coffee ground grit bit

on the wall

your black shall

you bake, frost a cake

i caught the cat

yawning -

but you slept all day!

spring pinging

wet dots

on roof tops

296 - 300

knotted ropes squeak, groan

tiny boat in open seas

and potted plants bloom

shadow my shadow

yr stretched warped on the sidewalk

daytime moon daylight

curiosity

this down hill velocity

a bird flies thru hail

my last breath today

a warm, wordless eulogy

buried in blankets

along sidewalk cracks

worms stretch out long, taut

all vein, heart and guts

291 - 295

in your absence

I absentmindedly

eat 2 bowls worth

now riley

it's been so long, girl

same street, different clothes, a dress

yr cat long since passed

that was then, we say

telephone line spider threads

a fly caught, struggles

a single loose thread

arcs in the warm breeze, haloed

bright green maple starts

in a light blue sky

a tree's still bare limbs reach out

scratching a moon itch

286 – 290

yr my cloud break

my subtle earthquake

bright light and held tight

piers over calm calm

soft whispering of sand sand

cold hand in hand

the roof needs fixin'

says the rain to hire men

ants on dropped candy

gray skies, you old dog,

rheumy eyes and sooty coat

cloud breather, play dead

don't resist the knife

little tongue red sun balloon

a grilled cheese sammich

281 - 285

j t w

hearing with his hands

looking back, walking ahead

a flat piece of wood

von keller creates

her creased expression

an unspeakable knowing

painting as séance

cold called early light

alarm clock poised to beacon

butterfly fly fly

bicycle blue jeans best friend

this gravity that holds me

water from the tap

pupil eyes open

i am in taking it in

dry parchment drinks ink

276 - 280

a warm afternoon

small cats lapping up water

at times, a clock ticks

i study the tracks

made by backpacks through brick paths

and now, a decade

my dear dr. ink

eyes behind glasses

a cosmic culture of blue

a microscope prepped

thoughts crystallizing

form order from alphabet

outside, snow collects

writers in cafes

clustered about like snowflakes

words stick, collect, melt

271 - 275

bright skin reflected

off the edge of a dark knife

half a blood orange

we ride parallel

synced up like windshield wipers

rain dots our faces

I'm going to the park

to paint parrots on pages

white paper cages

two boys fake war

their tactics all plastic

park pigeons limp by

a necklace placed, shifts,

retrace the steps of caress

grass torn and thrown

266 - 270

in my apartment

burnt toast sits in the sink

still warm blankets dream

unabashed squirrel

a frantic rain wet porch bath

exposed tea leaves shine

i bike thru light rain

the sun shy in the sky, bright thru

houses of shadows

birds the same size as

planes. the skyline, construction

crane backlit, frozen

one snake shed its skin

late afternoon light reveals

galaxies of dust

261 - 265

sea canary sings

frequencies inaudible

subliminal sea

a warmed piston

dipped in honey

hearts beat a path

clouds part angelic

a flurry of birds chirping

free cake I can eat!

the theory of snacks

a table, some empty bowls,

and one shy cookie

leaf, not fallen far

a brown spot on the roof top

voices unwind, wind

life is like the a.w.a.r.d.s show:

an overall terrible idea*, but you get to see some really good art** along the way.

lucky for all, life does not have a corresponding bad acronym (Artists With Audiences Responding to Dance).

While riding my bike, I got to thinking about social experiments as analogies to the greater picture. like that one from back in the day (bear with me now) where they (scientists) paired up two volunteers, made one the test taker (or something close to that effect) and the other the corrector of the test taker and then proposed the following stipulations: when the test taker answers incorrectly, the corrector hits a button which in turn informs the test taker that they have made a wrong choice - via an electric shock or something equally pain inducing. I think the idea was to see how far people will follow an authoritative command in the face of a not so clear moral situation, ie what you are charged to do is in fact harming another person. the results were icky: I think the majority of people ended up hitting the button, despite the test takers' pleas for mercy. the award show was nothing like this, thank the goddess. and yet it was, in the sense that it felt like a really weird social experiment with icky results. basically it made me, speaking metaphorically and about my life, not want to be the button pusher. not that I think I would have/am anyways, but it really sealed the deal for me to proactively not be that person/volunteer. also, I don't want to be the test taker. rather, I wanna be the fluke volunteer who puts down the you are wrong button, and starts asking questions instead of answering them. I feel like that line should have some really epic inspirational music behind it. for emphasis.

theatrics aside, if I had to be involved again next year, I would chose not to. and encourage all my friends to pass as well. it's just not worth it.

* if I wanted to watch a reality tv show about dance, I would let myself into my neighbor's apartment and switch the channel on the already turned on tv. but I don't, so I don't. ranking technique is one thing, ranking style and merit and creativity gets a little tricky/unfair. besides, any event where 11/12 groups of people end up feeling bad (ie like losers, cuz, well, they lost) is a no go in my book. there are better ways to advance the human race and our collective artistry***, like say, just having a showcase (cough northwest new works cough cough).

** i heart modern dance.

*** speaking of advancing the human race thru artistry, I am taking an old project off the dusty shelf and gonna make it happen. re-inspired by a having nothing to do with the show post show conversation I had with a fellow yogi, I am on a mission to make new, more palpable yoga music. something that does not include sitar or Sanscrit or that one guy who sounds like the lead singer of the Crash Test Dummies. mark my words, it's gonna rule. in the most mellow, stretchy, prana stimulating way possible.

256 - 260

a face with no name

the click of a range burner

the warmth of knowing

the trees part the clouds

drop leaves, shaking off the rest

a letter sent

thin lines stretched for miles

smiles

the catastrophe of truth

time numbing gray skies

crows in perfect silhouette

same sweater today

a knock at the door

this stranger, my shy neighbor

dinner dishes undone

251 - 255

connect electric

collapsing into silence

a cold kettle

wingtips in flight

the flutter of eyelashes

the rush, the lovers, rush

the perfect pot

breakfast or

break it

bare branches

curtainless window

a ladder leaning

creased pages

the curve of earth

snaked ess, a snapshot

241 - 250

stare into space

kid in a fountain

wet wash of starlight

asleep with few sheets

the black notes of birds pebbling

closed windows

a washing of words

sluiced through a steel grate

dirt down drains scrapes pipes

piano! dusty wires

connect fingers to brain, fingers to brain,

been too long, that song.

you said 'paint peeled'

i heard 'fate sealed.'

water dries, leaves salt

bare flesh in high winds

the surface of fresh water,

in fall rains, complains.

empty parking lot

spines of stray cats

starved gaps

late pumpkin

tucked in amongst leaves

mold or frost or both

water on the whale

twinkling against the sky

an astronaut

archways

all the spaces above

freckles taught