the real joy of fishing
is the stillness between bites —
anticipation, reflection, belonging
dark, steamy, fragrant warmth, liquid intelligence,the other black gold — the keeper
backlit stainless steel skies
ambiance of a Kelvinator fridge
winter’s subdued glory is here
trails of grit and dry grass
smelling of cougar piss,
mountains frame the deserts
fingers of green
stroke my inner calm
walking in the woods.
oasis of green
in a desert of drywall,
blessed respite
manic depressive black hole riffing techno
with neutronium hammers
on steelpan drums the size of small suns
A haiku poem
rivers of emotional steel,
casual survival
of loosely supervised insanity
staccato ribbons of silver
leap from the roof with crisp splats.
the new rain gathers and confers
spaghetti models
go-packs with snacks and water
the storm is at the door