#second autumn

[mumblelard]

[mumblelard]

winter is more arbitrary here than other places

i find myself more and more distracted by the explicit intrusion of the first person into poems. the i snags my eye, dragging my attention away from the experience they are sharing. it begins to feel like a throat clearing tic, or a needy, cloying assertion of ego, an unsightly sign marking the location of a spectacular view

the existence of the poem is itself declaration of the author, the other. my presence before the poem acknowledges our shared moment of consciousness. i want for their pure experience become words. i want to be surrounded by it, lost in the middle, the forest without paths, the cliff unprotected from the sea

how can i find more of that

[mumblelard]

bogged down or thursdays

[mumblelard]

sitting not sitting in the park, holding not holding onto any thing, writing not writing about every thing

listening to the new tweez, walking the ace sands path around the abandoned gravel pits along the river. the light today is so good today

[mumblelard]

flumlollys or falls risk and placet facere resuscitare

i found this bracelet on a dead man's nightstand during the wave of estate sales that accompanied the first year of the pandemic era. it felt emblematic of that period of time to me and like one of the most punk rock things i had ever seen. i've been wearing it, as a challenge, and as a reminder, ever since

yesterday, i twisted it idly on my wrist as i contemplated the day before, and the day and days ahead, and it snapped, a presentiment, and an artifact of closure, marking the end of an era for me

on saturday, i went on a hike, high in the mountains with my kids. after, we went to an underground folk art festival up in the mountains where the only thing being sold was art. it wasn't an excuse to gouge people for tickets or parking or cheap beer, just a wild fun group of people sharing what they had made. the last few years, i have been struggling with how to engage with the larger world, what is my role, what is my purpose. i don't know how to support myself and my family in a way that doesn't give support to the enthusiastically predatory society of this country where i live. i still don't have the answer, but more events like this feels like part of it. it was just the kind of punk rock i want to be a part of going forward

[mumblelard]

i remade the bed for the colder nights or happy friday imaginary constructs

my dreams have been so ornately dense this past week, i've had difficulty trying to hold on to any coherent images. in the one i could remember on waking, i dreamt that i was admitted to a hospice, a rest home, an asylum, perhaps a heaven because i felt such relief. all of the staff wore extreme, exagerated versions of the elaborately teased hairstyles favored by the new romantics, and they were all so gentle; i felt at peace

[mumblelard]

the moment too long or the missing crate

her deskside pallet rests on a crate borrowed from her cousin which her cousin has borrowed back. now her pallet rests on the floor and she has thoughts

and also happy big pot of pinto beans tuesday imaginary constructs

[mumblelard]

for dinner i ate an apple, an avocado that wasn't going to last another day, and half a roasted acorn squash or mondays