In the dark my dog and I set off to climb the trail,
crawling beneath trees,
drinking from streams—
up the switch backs hugging
the hillsides with only
our night vision and senses
to guide us
At the pass, the wind came rushing
in to tickle our sides—
and if the sky could vomit it did,
with chunks of ice turning to shards,
so hard we had to find shelter
and cover our heads
beneath a tree
It gushed and cracked and coated
everything and then stopped,
and we carried on
without another soul in sight
that feeling of the wild,
of deep isolation,
of being removed
and connected
at the same time.
I became aware of my ears
as they shriveled,
and fell off.
And then the same,
of my arms
and hands
until all I was
was raw nerve,
sense memory:
the lizard brain,
a gland
the size
of my thumb
controlling
the tower.
Hello
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What an icy onslaught and such a powerful reducing, Bill (I could feel it!): shape-shifted but not disempowered.
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Ha, sweet! It was a good time out with my dog. Not every day you turn into a fish, you know.
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Well I only felt it ‘second-hand’, but have to say I suddenly had a notion of stream-limed fishy intention and I’m not even a very good swimmer 🙂
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Hot damn, this was a great ride!
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Hot diggity-dog!
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That was peak visceral.
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I was embarrassed, but there you go. Sometimes have to just be that.
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Why embarrassed?
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Those thumb sized glands can be all kinds of trouble.
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Worse than chips. Chip-sized thingies.
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Do you submit this stuff anywhere? There are dozens of poetry journals wanting this.
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Hey thanks Mark, I don’t submit it but thanks for the nudge! Having fun anyways.
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