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Biographies Guestbook |
Winter is a coming in, sing goddamn.The big dipper sits full on the moonlit line of pines. A chill rides the air. Once deer stood these bright barrens sniffed the air for scent of snow, no human dreams worried their sleep. At midnight the pool of stars snaps -- unnamed, nothing makes sense... We become blind without the birds. No small feathers throating song and we miss the wisdom of their flights: such plumage sailing, colorful -- more interesting than history. Each wing holds a glint of light Each bird that survives winter hollow bones in blue heaven. Here I'll tell you it was like hitching back broke and finding friends with drinks and drunk a place to sleep. Waking up roomed above the street filled with another art show and down a stash tucked in my belt to the whirl of faces, the crop of artists the wide open getting high picture show but it's not like that needing a house for winter. |
Page Updated: 6/12/00