Thursday, January 8, 2009


Rain falling off this rock about that far. What will you give me if I do? We are no longer a family farm. At night you could hear the river like a loose wind furling over the tops of distant summer trees. Traveling was the perennial cautionary tale. Everybody else has a tire swing, why can't we? There was, in those days, little possibility of boundaries. Are measurable knowable smiles reassuring or affectionate or both? Of all the rules, that was the one I learned best. Nobody here knows much. The male mallard's colors in direct sunlight are proof God loves and wants us happy. One should sit when removing their belt. Tame ravens feed baby mice to your blind old snake. Heavy tomato baseballs. We shot but never cleaned our guns. My sisters were made to be art objects, which rankled all for decades. He favored certain pronouns as who in those days when there was time did not. But of course, of course. Any container can fashion daily the Pabst Blue Ribbon of beers. He collects old-fashioned farm implements while maintaining sincerely his opposition to nostalgia.

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