deepdown running, the wildest
eye, the one that knows what the clematis is thinking as it makes its way up the rusted archway bluesky nodding, holding court with sprouts and buds, drinking loudly of sunshine sweets and greengrass love Sunday morning wheelbarrow hands, moving rivers of rock between gangs of sharp-tongued cactus, weaving like a drunkard because I’m so tired of the quiet broken only by birdsong and chime then the words come to me on the desert wind, blown in rough like tumbleweed, they say we have been speaking to you all day, whispering your name from the tips of the prickly pear what if you listened?
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bridge, brook, bird
my throat has been clogged with dust for so long that I dream of deluge icy waters covering me pouring over my tongue, loosening my words and turning them to poetry |
Who am I?I’m a systems engineer, artist, and coach living in ABQ, NM. I believe that we can intentionally design our lives to align with our deepest dreams and desires. Archives
January 2023
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