#AmericanWriters
Every tan rolling meadow will turn… Freeways are clogged all day Academies packed with scholars wri… City people lean and dark This land most real
“O hell, what do mine eyes with grief behold?” Working with an old Singlejack miner, who can sense The vein and cleavage
One granite ridge A tree, would be enough Or even a rock, a small creek, A bark shred in a pool. Hill beyond hill, folded and twist…
One afternoon the last week in Ap… Showing Kai how to throw a hatche… One-half turn and it sticks in a s… He recalls the hatchet-head Without a handle, in the shop
The sour smell, blue stain, water squirts out round the wedge, Lifting quarters of rounds covered with ants,
It comes blundering over the Boulders at night, it stays Frightened outside the Range of my campfire I go to meet it at the
Hammering a dent out of a bucket a woodpecker answers from the woods
Clearing the mind and sliding in to that created space, a web of waters steaming over rock… air misty but not raining, seeing this land from a boat on a…
All this new stuff goes on top turn it over, turn it over wait and water down from the dark bottom turn it inside out
Down valley a smoke haze Three days heat, after five days r… Pitch glows on the fir-cones Across rocks and meadows Swarms of new flies.
I went into the Maverick Bar In Farmington, New Mexico. And drank double shots of bourbon backed with beer. My long hair was tucked up under a…
We finished clearing the last Section of trail by noon, High on the ridge-side Two thousand feet above the creek Reached the pass, went on
Beat-up datsun idling in the road shreds of fog almost-vertical hillsides drop awa… huge stumps fading into mist soft warm rain
Ah to be alive on a mid-September morn fording a stream barefoot, pants rolled up, holding boots, pack on,
Izanami gave birth to rocks, trees, rivers… and last, a blazing child so burned she died. In the land of darkness