The past month and a half I have had these things scattered around me:
3 pens
12000 mini-moleskins
2 outlines for a Tracing-Paper Essay about outlines
The Terror of Loch Ness by Che Elias - an inspiring meditation on sustained hardship
Black Jack Davey
Two Ton Maritime Blues
Ward No. 6 and Grisha
Museum of the Middle-Appalachians.org, Museum of Appalachia.org
chocolate covered coffee beans
Aurora Borealis and ten cough drops
Dispatches by Michael Herr - a beyond raw and painful look at the Vietnam War through a reporter's eyes
Dak To and Hill 875, Disaster on Route Coloniale 4,
Clarence Tom Ashley, Lonnie Johnson - 'Long Black Train'
Spring Creek Strategies (hatches, patterns and techniques) by Mike Heck - a detailed and enlightening guide to fly-fishing in Eastern Pennsylvania, and which sometimes reads like a philosophical critique of a Nick Adams story
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
Croak from a Thorny Dark Holler
sweet month
of June
uprooted
and high,
in the high
White Pine
Halloween
backwoods,
set deep
in the jagged and the vale,
the house
wears a mask
old granite
gibbous,
thunderstorm
oak leaves,
Son of
the Stars
something
they call
Old
Barracks Road,
It's beginning
to thaw
29th Infantry
set sail
at dawn,
port of call
will be empty
forever and some
macaroni
stockings
on the girl
of the times
Jeffer
sonian
formations
in Black Walnut
clay
your reverent
baby blues,
open
and shut
black diamond
girl,
rose of
San Antone,
low evening star
of gloom and heather in the hills,
far below
ironwood
valleys,
travelers
of old,
longpaved
crossroads
of freshcut
trails
of June
uprooted
and high,
in the high
White Pine
Halloween
backwoods,
set deep
in the jagged and the vale,
the house
wears a mask
old granite
gibbous,
thunderstorm
oak leaves,
Son of
the Stars
something
they call
Old
Barracks Road,
It's beginning
to thaw
29th Infantry
set sail
at dawn,
port of call
will be empty
forever and some
macaroni
stockings
on the girl
of the times
Jeffer
sonian
formations
in Black Walnut
clay
your reverent
baby blues,
open
and shut
black diamond
girl,
rose of
San Antone,
low evening star
of gloom and heather in the hills,
far below
ironwood
valleys,
travelers
of old,
longpaved
crossroads
of freshcut
trails
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