thenewsummer.blogspot.com
summer town: July 2011
http://thenewsummer.blogspot.com/2011_07_01_archive.html
Monday, July 25, 2011. Zooming up coast from Dana Point all the way to Huntington proper I was. Smiling out the window whipping by,. Singing to praise whosoever proffered me this Sunday. How devastatingly beautiful, I think, is. The black lab, leashed and lapping along, also. The wino, shuffling sidewalks, hands-a-pockets,. The joggers blonding ponytails go Swish! Storefronts glimmer in the early earthly glow. And by god the Bikers! Those sinew-sleek and anatomic bodies. I stop to fill gas (! On memorial...
thenewsummer.blogspot.com
summer town: August 2011
http://thenewsummer.blogspot.com/2011_08_01_archive.html
Wednesday, August 31, 2011. Awwwwww baby. We gotta go now. Sunday, August 21, 2011. On crumbly dry and summer hillsides. A lizard scuttles ‘long my roof, reminds me, “crane your neck! Mizz humming-goes-birding balanced there across the oak twig reminds me “lighter is best”. And all the squalling jays come chorusing in the morning, reminding each other that “Over here? No over there. Over here perhaps.”. Meanwhile and just downhill, the ever-highway sends engine roars to echo up-canyon and dissipate.
thenewsummer.blogspot.com
summer town: April 2011
http://thenewsummer.blogspot.com/2011_04_01_archive.html
Saturday, April 30, 2011. Quickly in any case. So I stand there paining my eyes to please open wider till it hurts, and trying to trace every ridge valley shrub tree rock bird and city light below and every color, blur, sweep and sway of scenery, and a part of me sad because I know soon it'll blow over and I'll never see it again (and even now can hardly see it in memory's eye). Whether outlined with fog or dusk or noonday sun or what else! Friday, April 22, 2011. Saturday, April 16, 2011. For mom to see.
thenewsummer.blogspot.com
summer town: Awwwwww baby. We gotta go now...
http://thenewsummer.blogspot.com/2011/08/awwwwww-baby-we-gotta-go-now.html
Wednesday, August 31, 2011. Awwwwww baby. We gotta go now. Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom). According to these guys. Http:/ 12monthsinasheville.blogspot.com/. Http:/ amongthepines.blogspot.com/. Awwwwww baby. We gotta go now. On crumbly dry and summer hillsides. 8220;If you're in a war, instead of throwing a hand grenade at the enemy, throw one of those small pumpkins. Maybe it'll make everyone think how stupid war is, and while they are thinking, you can throw a real grenade at them.”.
thenewsummer.blogspot.com
summer town: huntington
http://thenewsummer.blogspot.com/2011/07/huntington.html
Monday, July 25, 2011. Zooming up coast from Dana Point all the way to Huntington proper I was. Smiling out the window whipping by,. Singing to praise whosoever proffered me this Sunday. How devastatingly beautiful, I think, is. The black lab, leashed and lapping along, also. The wino, shuffling sidewalks, hands-a-pockets,. The joggers blonding ponytails go Swish! Storefronts glimmer in the early earthly glow. And by god the Bikers! Those sinew-sleek and anatomic bodies. I stop to fill gas (! On memorial...
thenewsummer.blogspot.com
summer town: my fire eats everything
http://thenewsummer.blogspot.com/2011/06/my-fire-eats-everything.html
Friday, June 24, 2011. My fire eats everything. Though at first I was responsible. Flint spark to scaly schist. Over dead twig and dry leaf),. Just as a word, once spoken,. No longer belongs to it’s author - so this fire went free. My fire eats everything. Decaying heartwood of a. Once hearty hemlock,. Never thought he’d see the day -. My fire gladly receives and. Eats 'em all up. My fire remembers nothing. Knows no language, age or fashion,. Where it comes or. How it might should act. Coal, gold, earth.
thenewsummer.blogspot.com
summer town: November 2010
http://thenewsummer.blogspot.com/2010_11_01_archive.html
Tuesday, November 16, 2010. New york new york! Mismatched underground rides and sore sandal-feeting through floursescent tunnels in the midst of one big impatient hurry; after all this, finally coming up at 116. By Morningside Park, finally breathing fresh air in fresh space with healthy joggers bikers women and babies in strollers weaving in and out of giant old elms and live oaks on paved pathways. Strolling eventualy down Broadway with no agenda at hand but stumbing into, and realizing here it is what...
thenewsummer.blogspot.com
summer town: June 2011
http://thenewsummer.blogspot.com/2011_06_01_archive.html
Friday, June 24, 2011. My fire eats everything. Though at first I was responsible. Flint spark to scaly schist. Over dead twig and dry leaf),. Just as a word, once spoken,. No longer belongs to it’s author - so this fire went free. My fire eats everything. Decaying heartwood of a. Once hearty hemlock,. Never thought he’d see the day -. My fire gladly receives and. Eats 'em all up. My fire remembers nothing. Knows no language, age or fashion,. Where it comes or. How it might should act. Coal, gold, earth.
thenewsummer.blogspot.com
summer town: on crumbly dry and summer hillsides
http://thenewsummer.blogspot.com/2011/08/head-full-of-transparencies.html
Sunday, August 21, 2011. On crumbly dry and summer hillsides. A lizard scuttles ‘long my roof, reminds me, “crane your neck! Mizz humming-goes-birding balanced there across the oak twig reminds me “lighter is best”. And all the squalling jays come chorusing in the morning, reminding each other that “Over here? No over there. Over here perhaps.”. Meanwhile and just downhill, the ever-highway sends engine roars to echo up-canyon and dissipate. Can only write it as it’s felt. And are you the friend of deer?
thenewsummer.blogspot.com
summer town: January 2011
http://thenewsummer.blogspot.com/2011_01_01_archive.html
Monday, January 24, 2011. Monday, January 17, 2011. The Year of the Turtle. Thursday, January 6, 2011. To 630 in the morning and E who slips on his black Neal jacket for the thousand and one-th time. To how easy everything is when all you have to do is wake up with Jazz. To the white elephant who makes his home twixt Park and Yamhill, and to the rain. To tweed ricket chairs sitting round hourglass morning tables. And window-gazing too. To pretty little city. And to a cloudy glass of water by the bedside.
