unpretty

don't tell me that
i am pretty, no no no
that was a long
long time ago
oh, i have not been
pretty since the fall
when i
tumbledown
tumbledown
to my unpretty low

all i am
is is is is
vaaaycant

drift drift away

dropping away
drift drift along
the coil mortal
a song on the wind
      --nothing more

childlike laughter
faint and faraway
drifting through
this sacred bit
             of theater

drift drift away

just one [10jun23]

tundra, lichen & stone
tombstone winds
fields of bone

I’m reflecting on a single rune today, tiwaz. This continues a new exploration for me that I started in early June that may or may not continue moving forward. The primary goal of the exploration is to embrace simplicity as one approach with my rune-prompted poetry.

in the killing jar

i am

splintered in the head
she said before they tied
her to her bed with
sheets and knots and
treacle

slipping her needles and
fire, desires and thoughts
between the joints and
soft sell flesh, lye and
soap

still, she writhed a
butterfly butterfly broken
on the wheel, chokin'
on the chloroform in the
killing jar

if only he had said
right words, stone faced
and painted clown,
she might still be
clean...

njoy

njoy njoy
clocks dead strike
crème de la rot
besot and besmirched
the king is dead
long live the not

njoy njoy
harbinger and portent
sitting on fallen walls
ready to crackscramble
at the crow of the cock
everything come
tumblin' tumblin' down

tumblin' down the walls

Water under

I need to get out more, I decided. Get out of my basement telecommute office. Get out of my head.

About May or June of every year for about the past ten years, I pine for more outdoorsy activities. Growing up, I spent a large chunk of every summer in the Minnesota North Woods at my aunt’s cabin. Weeks on end, and most weekends when it wasn’t longer. There, I did a lot of exploration in the dense woodlands and, when I wasn’t following narrow trails deep into the woods, I was out on the lake in a rowboat or canoe.

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just one [09jun23]

having tasted blood
carrion flock to murder
an ebon beacon at the gate

I’m reflecting on a single rune today, algiz. This continues a new exploration for me that I started in early June that may or may not continue moving forward. The primary goal of the exploration is to embrace simplicity as one approach with my rune-prompted poetry.

tomorrow, i drift

tomorrow, i drift
while the world slips beside
i am calm water
sunshine glaring off my face

Year 14

As of tomorrow, I will have fourteen years of sobriety under my belt (and approaching twelve years of being smoke-free).

To be honest, I don’t miss it any longer. I mean, there are days when a hoppy pale ale on a hot summer afternoon sounds damn good, or I miss the taste of Irish whiskey. But there haven’t been any Days for a good long while where I crave either of those refreshments so much that I need to stay away from all temptation, days where the urge is unbearable and I have to struggle to keep sober. In the past five years, maybe even eight, I can count on maybe three fingers where I’ve struggled with my sobriety.

In all honesty, and thankfully, I struggle more with wanting to chain-smoke myself into chill because of my frequent and near-constant stress. Man, I miss my cigs some days (last night was one of those days).

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rejection

I reject your culture wars.

sceadugenga

unpretty

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drift drift away

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just one [10jun23]

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in the killing jar

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njoy

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Water under

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just one [09jun23]

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tomorrow, i drift

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Year 14

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rejection

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