Fall wind scatters flocks/ Birds and leaves, from branch to sky/ Have we stem, or wing?
It’s a Thursday in May after five when I swing into the Piggly Wiggly with two bikes on the back of my SUV, and the dog inside; The woman slicing my deli ham struggles with the wrapper on the summer sausage, limps like her hip is bad, too; she paces, trapped behind the glass cage; … More Crivitz Piggly Wiggly Philosophy
I am drunk on this new summer twilight, the world’s wash is golden-hued burdens liberally poured, and so I will roll in the fields where the corn is laid out in straight, sober lines, the light Creeping between them like water rising slow – I will lick the tree trunks and the underside of leaves … More One For the Road
This deep June evening with the sun pulling away from the sky Sinking into the earth, its journey more than half gone, like mine – This soft gold light finds a way through the blossoming dogwood, Lights up the slats on the barn with gossamer gold, makes beautiful The old; This bluebird dead on the … More Everything About this Bike Ride Tells Me I am Going to Die
I. What happens To the bicycles in Munich; The ones punctuating the cobblestone paths – Locked to the bike racks, lampposts, street signs In sun, rain, sleet, snow, heat Wheels bent into parentheses, Or missing entirely, Or outwardly fine, Frames rusted, scratched, or gleaming, Just Forgotten about entirely locked up and misremembered rented and abandoned … More Fine Ruin (Bicycles in Munich)
Dark spreads like blood pooling beneath the bruised skin, but warm – Or as though the earth is an eye, lids closing slowly and shadowing inward, And in this swelling night, in this place slowly cooling to the touch, The air compressor blasts and growls, channeling breath into the long-resting tires, So they may ride … More Dark Rides