The days fanned out, an ocean of stars came into view And Crow was there too, a star in each eye gave him sight — the same glow on his wings gave him flight, and though it took a million or more… Read More ›
Poetry
Dots on the hill
Last Friday in the States until sometime next spring. Moon fattens to a claw. Danced the trifecta of drink starting with Tequila out of pint glasses sucked through straws, licking the sides, backcountry animal tongue. Took the morning walk to… Read More ›
Richard Brautigan is dead at 49
It took about a month for them to find his body and a whole lot longer than that for him to be discovered while he was alive. And he is there at the roadside jotting down notes by a flattened… Read More ›
Pick me out a poem
After I ate the poet I left the shells piled high on a plate translucent-pink, done just right — and after all that picking out the meat, it looked like more than when I started, once it was done.
The coin of the realm
It twists and shifts with the pace of a Rube Goldberg machine, drops men from boats to dangle in the sky, forest green figurines crouching, aiming, leaping — heroes in the minds of boys, heroes in living form some call sacrifice. A plastic American… Read More ›
Sure
My grandfather has fallen asleep with a paperback in his lap, hands braided, glasses on — and I watch his reflection from the bathroom mirror where someone has left a stick of deodorant by the sink that says Sure, and I am… Read More ›
The Safeway in Chewelah, WA
On the drive back I make my kids listen to Townes Van Zandt since it feels like we could be in Texas it’s so hot, everything flat and beaten down by the sun. The songs about places he’d been in… Read More ›
A new path to the Lantern Tree
I’m driving my kids into the deserts of eastern Washington where it’s near wildfire season with no appreciable rain in 30 days, and we stop at a Texaco near the town Vantage, and I think surely that smoke in the… Read More ›
Stuck inside a hummingbird mobile with the Memphis blues again
We drove around with five fluorescent lamp bulbs in the back of the Volvo and one of the two mufflers missing with the second one scraping the pavement and hanging there wrong like a bad organ, something that needs removed… Read More ›
The frail edge of belief
They look back at themselves thinking they will see something more but never do, they are still the same. We are the modern harvesters picking turds out of the grass, bits of glass that could be made into something, some day. Who… Read More ›
Bill Pearse 