Bike ride in the rain

Today the short
grass grew where
sunflowers once stretched
to blue backlit clouds
crested Berryessa whisping
skyward:

There, miles away, where fat anvils scrape the tops of hills, is the luminous mouth to heaven.

Minimun Guidlines

i t
i  s
p   o    e     m

i i p
t s o
     em

m e  o   p
s    i
t     i

i p
t o
  e
i m
s

Cut & Paste

Life is most automatic
after the play
but deadliest
at the height of the pass
&
Death's horrific shimmy
gaining blue-painted
mystery in degrees:

A January day, the heart of modern
Paris, thinking
inside the stereotypes that shadow
and sundance before
the unarmed man, filled with
leather boots, knitted hats, headlines.

Football is life!

There are no metaphors on this field:
The plasticine grass simply is, res ipsa loquitur.
This small victory of yard, 
this pain, these contorted limbs,
Each is the thing itself.

The fight is fruitless, the decisions have no impact
beyond the spectacle.

It is. It happens.
It is not. It fades.
Nothing is left.

Bear Death

the         embrace
compresses
breath pulverizes
ribs,      implodes
the lungs       and
heart in   warmth
fur,         comfort