How soothing at the lake, the water pooling in. Birds and kid sounds, a gull burrowed down, a helicopter seed- pod’s propeller spinning, brown: I watched it all the way, thought I could stay here all day, on the seam… Read More ›
spirituality
For all its life, it ends in a poem
I laid the little bird inside a planting pot with a leafless plant, a veil of snow on top— and as the wind picked up I imagined it coaxed the little bird’s soul along, somewhere new— and when I held… Read More ›
The last days before the equinox
Fall’s moody shadows, pine needles, leaves: all that starts from above one day will drop, past the mountain peaks Jack Kerouac walked, they probably looked the same to him too, it’s hard to believe those photos of people in the… Read More ›
Deceiver Trail to Far Country Lookout
I took the Deceiver Trail, the S3, past the Licorice Fern cul-de-sac to a crumpled-up viewpoint where there wasn’t much to see but it sounded nice with the water collecting in a dark pool by a leaning sign, Far Country… Read More ›
We are all just prisoners here of our own device
I turned right on the N6 past the Klondike Marsh, past Clay Pit Road, past the grate-covered mine shaft, the cave holes shown on the map. I met my hair stylist outside my old building where I worked and we… Read More ›
I restarted a song called ‘Song with no ending’
When you died a million deaths did you notice any, or did you just build over the same places?
Siddhartha, the waiting room, ‘nowness’
The waiting room in the colon treatment center the morning after Fat Tuesday could be purgatory, where people wait to have their insides filmed through a probe, to hear how long they have to live, what they have, when they… Read More ›
A moment with a bad piece of art in Galway
Monday, a down day. The waves crashing against the rocks in the painting don’t move me because a.) I doubt they were real rocks the painter really saw, and b.) doubted he/she had the knack to really paint. It’s like… Read More ›
‘Dreams are like water, colourless and dangerous’
It’s The Wednesday of our Lives, halfway through a nine-month tour of Europe, three months in the UK. We remind Lily dreams aren’t real, sometimes they’re just a manifestation of our fears and hopes — but dreams you want to make… Read More ›
Closure, cynosure
SAMMAMISH, WA 29th VII 2015 Climbed the dead end road Beth lives on barefoot with a glass of wine to admire the moon. Hoped I’d see the bear that’s been shitting in her yard. Speculated all month what made the… Read More ›
Bill Pearse 