#AmericanWriters
At the last turn in the path “goodbye—” —bending, bowing, (moss and a bit of wild
It comes blundering over the Boulders at night, it stays Frightened outside the Range of my campfire I go to meet it at the
Ah to be alive on a mid-September morn fording a stream barefoot, pants rolled up, holding boots, pack on,
The sour smell, blue stain, water squirts out round the wedge, Lifting quarters of rounds covered with ants,
Owl calls, pollen dust blows Swirl of light strokes writhing knot-tying light paths,
Out there walking round, looking o… a rootstock, a birdcall, a seed th… plucking, digging, snaring, snaggi… barely getting by, no food out there on dusty slopes…
“O hell, what do mine eyes with grief behold?” Working with an old Singlejack miner, who can sense The vein and cleavage
One afternoon the last week in Ap… Showing Kai how to throw a hatche… One-half turn and it sticks in a s… He recalls the hatchet-head Without a handle, in the shop
Swung from the toes out, Belly-breath riding on the knuckle… The ten-pound maul lifts up, Sails in an arc overhead, And then lifts you!
I went into the Maverick Bar In Farmington, New Mexico. And drank double shots of bourbon backed with beer. My long hair was tucked up under a…
Beat-up datsun idling in the road shreds of fog almost-vertical hillsides drop awa… huge stumps fading into mist soft warm rain
He had driven half the night From far down San Joaquin Through Mariposa, up the Dangerous Mountain roads, And pulled in at eight a.m.
Clearing the mind and sliding in to that created space, a web of waters steaming over rock… air misty but not raining, seeing this land from a boat on a…
Hammering a dent out of a bucket a woodpecker answers from the woods