the knothole
the knothole

There is a special tree in our yard

that has a knot

the kind of hiding place

for two pieces of chewing gum

fishing twine, three buttons,

tiny soap figures, old indian head coins

and a pocket watch to keep time.


To keep time in a relative sense

as does the tree seasonally

like druid stone and bone

summer splits her wide open in june

axis sun spun across tall blades of grass

right down the line

winter falls from the palm of her hand

like leaves of a cardigan unbound

coating the bare ass ground

yet even still stands the shadow

and all of his magical dancers

as the branches and buds

across the neighbors mended fence

dance an enchanting ritual

like pixies like nymphs

undeniably adorable and unpredictable

like a grade school recital

only privilege knows

in the world of knowingness.


The shade of an old Pawleys hammock,

the shadow of leaves forbidden dance,

the trunk as wide as harvest silo,

branches beholding the fabled reconstruction

and telling time

and time again

to kill a mockingbird is a sin.

baggage claim
baggage claim

the Sublime baggage claim

of Cumberland Island

like @phonte sang

what could be sweeter than you?

so, that being now lofted in the air

which way to that stair

where is the runway lift off

this quiet storm

the lowest longest stretch of shoal

this quiet country low country

quite the ebb dipped in flow

gathering grains

to build us a castle

between two fir
between two fir

walking in your rays

palm holding the smalls

trees smiling tall


smiling at the old words resurrected

by your soul touch

tending the forest


planting seeds in me

knowing my soul soil is

rich with nutrients from the hills


after two days

forgetting to eat

devouring each other’s history


holding you gaze

talking your ways

would fill my heart for months of days


Breathing only by the way

of caffeine and watered leaves

fruit dried and sourdoughed


finding sleep between dreams

finding pause in our fingers

intertwined mapping our path


standing in line

with the sun rising and setting

in the highlands and lowlands


blades of grass

tears of longing

both homesick for Spring


their worlds merged

impregnated

with tomorrow

folly
folly

You have given harbor to the wanderer

pulling my moon

by your side

as ebb flows

my tide 

a cloudless sky
a cloudless sky

in a cloudless sky

full moon tide

morning chill be of the still air

hovering above the memory of light

as the sun dawns

in to today from the night

giving way giving rise

sculpting bodies

on all the rights shoulders long.

The good wind,

the good friend

Sandy toes sandbar nose

The congregation of constituents

free flapping flippers and fins

We’ve searched 1000 swells

but not as apposite as this

in this space

at this moment.

please open your hymnal

as we join together in praise

turning to your neighbor

with a smile

and sing

soul

surfing


without looking
without looking

Knowing when you first

walk in around the corner

of a crowded room

surrender
surrender

surely the sun knows

it doesn’t move

like you move me.

no chance,

no encounter;

we meet and map

our lives under the stars

in a myriad of courses

like constellations

webbing two shores

until the ocean concedes

in its betweenness

becoming the land

like wallpaper not wedge

with our toes at waters edge

palms outstretched

hearts in breath

in our quiet retreat

we find our homecoming

our safe house

our soul harbor

gaze adrift

current apposite .

.

orange blossom
orange blossom

summer cloaked another

golden veil across a ghostly town

like orange blossom honey

moves down a mason

storytelling the arrival

of autumn 

the conversation
the conversation

To move mountains

you asked for

with the shape of words


you planted in my dreams

the first night’s fall

following the sun as one

I saw shining through you

in the woods

before we

spoke

in

the old language

of symbols

before


gatekeepers
gatekeepers

gatekeepers.

I had a name but they took it from me.

promised to exchange it

when I crossed the Sea,

touched the shore

returning for more.

All the while,

the name

as my soul

changed

shedding skin

needing

name

never

more

a thing for trees
a thing for trees

I have a thing

a thing for bees

I have a thing

a thing for trees

recycling ain’t shit

straws, just barely the tip

the oceans, this planet

needs

for you to give a fuck

please

for the bees

for the trees

for the seas

for my niece

please

earthly

niceties

🌬✨

camino de toscino
camino de toscino

sews a scallop shell

into my lapel

at 4:12

in the morning

as Autumn,

(oh Fall,

the gravity of it all)

as Autumn

murmurers...

Fisterra

Camino

Fisterra

Camino

Santiago.

.

.

where the other half

awaits

the other half

making complete

the whole

like two cupped hands

shells on the sand

a vessel

discrete

approaching

complete

.

.

.

.

.

.

or something like that

the Beauty
the Beauty

the Beautiful

Conversation

held down and given rise

as palm warms the hairs

frozen still, under hand

standing guard

across the forearm

on the other

side of the bridge

guarded still by stoic

replicas guarded still

staring down sundogs

flaring round rainbow tails

of dragons and shells;

orchestral sounds

where the Atlantic meets

Timucuan grounds

The Beautiful

Conversation

of listening

to words

with no sounds

as the hairs

dance unbound

closing down

the distance

across Mantanzas Sound

to see clearly

the ghost

taking form

as the tide recedes

into her storm.

flare
flare

walking out the crinkles

from the bandage

over the welded stitches

that were not meant to dissolve

but they insisted

pulling at the seams

would build trust

drowning in the ditches

drowning in flaming rust



19.06.10


to plant a forest
to plant a forest

their secret world;

in this moment

where

they agreed.

whole

heartedly

to plant a forest

where the scars

marked the wounds.

bruises,

but just a memory.

now

lush

quickening

Why did I do it?
Why did I do it?

why did i do it?

I did it for Love*

Falling in

Tumblin’ down

Falling out

chin on the ground

Look at me now.

Looking out

climbing the backside

of this crest

summiting across breast

stroking the stream

hydrating an old romantic

dream

I had

once.

But once.

was

enough to fill this

chalice of limestone

for a minute

while I learned

to dance again

in it.

now

my my my feet

tap slash slog

from nightfall

til morning fog

through the dew

matte memories

stand

few

now

knew

every thing

is new.

turquoise

Life

blue

salt

shining

hue

out of gas
out of gas

eight pm

ran out of gas

greeted the sun by the ghost on the shore

stuck

around some more

cleaned the shore

gleaned some more

raced home to open house for tour

gleaned some more

meet a few other open doors

grabbed this moon

swoonin soon

swoonin pink

on hue

on blue

but ran out of gas

busted ass

fell flat

dulled

matte

Husk
Husk

the Dude loves his mirror

damn near as much

as I adore

the number of petals

converging like husk

coveting and doting

seeds sun flowers

before the sprout

before the shoot

calling for the sun

leaning into water

soaking every moment

star struck at the silence

leaning into the sun

stuck on the silence

between bees

green pharma
green pharma

b...

there’s a rhythm to a good hike

a slapping, a flapping

of the wings of the forest

the pulse constricting

the pause and the ponder

the deeper the wander

the more bound the grip

until that shift in light

that lift of wind

easing in an open door

out of the forest

and onto the open sky floor

that architecture

of nature

selling dope

forever

amore



19.06.06.

Black Crest Trail, NC 

Memorial Day Eve 2019

approaching the 37th hour backpacking backcountry   


the green room
the green room

the green room

no more wasting time

in the waiting line

soaking

in the green room

of this wasted mind

saturated

and fat

from wearing someone else’s hat

into the green room

7 days flat

dropped the bag

dropped the act

deep in the woods

to find where it’s at

line of sight
line of sight

in the air

above it all

used to the fall

from climbing

so high

so fly

so tall

above it all.

it takes the grey

aloofness of solitude

head in the cloud

dew on the brow

in-between what is rain

and lightning

to fully appreciate the silence

of the view

of the breath

awaiting you

just around the bend

across the top of ridge

that once was ocean floor


outermost edge
outermost edge

 

it takes the grey

aloofness of solitude

head in the cloud

dew on the brow

in-between what is rain

and lightning

to fully appreciate the silence

of the view

of the breath

awaiting you

just around the bend

across the top of ridge

that once was ocean floor

be still
be still

silence of the clouds

Blue
Blue

to know the tender softening curves of the underbelly and dimples of the clouds of blue ridge,

of this most ancient mystic ridge ...

is nectar

is molasses

is sorghum

and blossom

the knothole
baggage claim
between two fir
folly
a cloudless sky
without looking
surrender
orange blossom
the conversation
gatekeepers
a thing for trees
camino de toscino
the Beauty
flare
to plant a forest
Why did I do it?
out of gas
Husk
green pharma
the green room
line of sight
outermost edge
be still
Blue
the knothole

There is a special tree in our yard

that has a knot

the kind of hiding place

for two pieces of chewing gum

fishing twine, three buttons,

tiny soap figures, old indian head coins

and a pocket watch to keep time.


To keep time in a relative sense

as does the tree seasonally

like druid stone and bone

summer splits her wide open in june

axis sun spun across tall blades of grass

right down the line

winter falls from the palm of her hand

like leaves of a cardigan unbound

coating the bare ass ground

yet even still stands the shadow

and all of his magical dancers

as the branches and buds

across the neighbors mended fence

dance an enchanting ritual

like pixies like nymphs

undeniably adorable and unpredictable

like a grade school recital

only privilege knows

in the world of knowingness.


The shade of an old Pawleys hammock,

the shadow of leaves forbidden dance,

the trunk as wide as harvest silo,

branches beholding the fabled reconstruction

and telling time

and time again

to kill a mockingbird is a sin.

baggage claim

the Sublime baggage claim

of Cumberland Island

like @phonte sang

what could be sweeter than you?

so, that being now lofted in the air

which way to that stair

where is the runway lift off

this quiet storm

the lowest longest stretch of shoal

this quiet country low country

quite the ebb dipped in flow

gathering grains

to build us a castle

between two fir

walking in your rays

palm holding the smalls

trees smiling tall


smiling at the old words resurrected

by your soul touch

tending the forest


planting seeds in me

knowing my soul soil is

rich with nutrients from the hills


after two days

forgetting to eat

devouring each other’s history


holding you gaze

talking your ways

would fill my heart for months of days


Breathing only by the way

of caffeine and watered leaves

fruit dried and sourdoughed


finding sleep between dreams

finding pause in our fingers

intertwined mapping our path


standing in line

with the sun rising and setting

in the highlands and lowlands


blades of grass

tears of longing

both homesick for Spring


their worlds merged

impregnated

with tomorrow

folly

You have given harbor to the wanderer

pulling my moon

by your side

as ebb flows

my tide 

a cloudless sky

in a cloudless sky

full moon tide

morning chill be of the still air

hovering above the memory of light

as the sun dawns

in to today from the night

giving way giving rise

sculpting bodies

on all the rights shoulders long.

The good wind,

the good friend

Sandy toes sandbar nose

The congregation of constituents

free flapping flippers and fins

We’ve searched 1000 swells

but not as apposite as this

in this space

at this moment.

please open your hymnal

as we join together in praise

turning to your neighbor

with a smile

and sing

soul

surfing


without looking

Knowing when you first

walk in around the corner

of a crowded room

surrender

surely the sun knows

it doesn’t move

like you move me.

no chance,

no encounter;

we meet and map

our lives under the stars

in a myriad of courses

like constellations

webbing two shores

until the ocean concedes

in its betweenness

becoming the land

like wallpaper not wedge

with our toes at waters edge

palms outstretched

hearts in breath

in our quiet retreat

we find our homecoming

our safe house

our soul harbor

gaze adrift

current apposite .

.

orange blossom

summer cloaked another

golden veil across a ghostly town

like orange blossom honey

moves down a mason

storytelling the arrival

of autumn 

the conversation

To move mountains

you asked for

with the shape of words


you planted in my dreams

the first night’s fall

following the sun as one

I saw shining through you

in the woods

before we

spoke

in

the old language

of symbols

before


gatekeepers

gatekeepers.

I had a name but they took it from me.

promised to exchange it

when I crossed the Sea,

touched the shore

returning for more.

All the while,

the name

as my soul

changed

shedding skin

needing

name

never

more

a thing for trees

I have a thing

a thing for bees

I have a thing

a thing for trees

recycling ain’t shit

straws, just barely the tip

the oceans, this planet

needs

for you to give a fuck

please

for the bees

for the trees

for the seas

for my niece

please

earthly

niceties

🌬✨

camino de toscino

sews a scallop shell

into my lapel

at 4:12

in the morning

as Autumn,

(oh Fall,

the gravity of it all)

as Autumn

murmurers...

Fisterra

Camino

Fisterra

Camino

Santiago.

.

.

where the other half

awaits

the other half

making complete

the whole

like two cupped hands

shells on the sand

a vessel

discrete

approaching

complete

.

.

.

.

.

.

or something like that

the Beauty

the Beautiful

Conversation

held down and given rise

as palm warms the hairs

frozen still, under hand

standing guard

across the forearm

on the other

side of the bridge

guarded still by stoic

replicas guarded still

staring down sundogs

flaring round rainbow tails

of dragons and shells;

orchestral sounds

where the Atlantic meets

Timucuan grounds

The Beautiful

Conversation

of listening

to words

with no sounds

as the hairs

dance unbound

closing down

the distance

across Mantanzas Sound

to see clearly

the ghost

taking form

as the tide recedes

into her storm.

flare

walking out the crinkles

from the bandage

over the welded stitches

that were not meant to dissolve

but they insisted

pulling at the seams

would build trust

drowning in the ditches

drowning in flaming rust



19.06.10


to plant a forest

their secret world;

in this moment

where

they agreed.

whole

heartedly

to plant a forest

where the scars

marked the wounds.

bruises,

but just a memory.

now

lush

quickening

Why did I do it?

why did i do it?

I did it for Love*

Falling in

Tumblin’ down

Falling out

chin on the ground

Look at me now.

Looking out

climbing the backside

of this crest

summiting across breast

stroking the stream

hydrating an old romantic

dream

I had

once.

But once.

was

enough to fill this

chalice of limestone

for a minute

while I learned

to dance again

in it.

now

my my my feet

tap slash slog

from nightfall

til morning fog

through the dew

matte memories

stand

few

now

knew

every thing

is new.

turquoise

Life

blue

salt

shining

hue

out of gas

eight pm

ran out of gas

greeted the sun by the ghost on the shore

stuck

around some more

cleaned the shore

gleaned some more

raced home to open house for tour

gleaned some more

meet a few other open doors

grabbed this moon

swoonin soon

swoonin pink

on hue

on blue

but ran out of gas

busted ass

fell flat

dulled

matte

Husk

the Dude loves his mirror

damn near as much

as I adore

the number of petals

converging like husk

coveting and doting

seeds sun flowers

before the sprout

before the shoot

calling for the sun

leaning into water

soaking every moment

star struck at the silence

leaning into the sun

stuck on the silence

between bees

green pharma

b...

there’s a rhythm to a good hike

a slapping, a flapping

of the wings of the forest

the pulse constricting

the pause and the ponder

the deeper the wander

the more bound the grip

until that shift in light

that lift of wind

easing in an open door

out of the forest

and onto the open sky floor

that architecture

of nature

selling dope

forever

amore



19.06.06.

Black Crest Trail, NC 

Memorial Day Eve 2019

approaching the 37th hour backpacking backcountry   


the green room

the green room

no more wasting time

in the waiting line

soaking

in the green room

of this wasted mind

saturated

and fat

from wearing someone else’s hat

into the green room

7 days flat

dropped the bag

dropped the act

deep in the woods

to find where it’s at

line of sight

in the air

above it all

used to the fall

from climbing

so high

so fly

so tall

above it all.

it takes the grey

aloofness of solitude

head in the cloud

dew on the brow

in-between what is rain

and lightning

to fully appreciate the silence

of the view

of the breath

awaiting you

just around the bend

across the top of ridge

that once was ocean floor


outermost edge

 

it takes the grey

aloofness of solitude

head in the cloud

dew on the brow

in-between what is rain

and lightning

to fully appreciate the silence

of the view

of the breath

awaiting you

just around the bend

across the top of ridge

that once was ocean floor

be still

silence of the clouds

Blue

to know the tender softening curves of the underbelly and dimples of the clouds of blue ridge,

of this most ancient mystic ridge ...

is nectar

is molasses

is sorghum

and blossom

show thumbnails