( )

been all over villages of the hudson to genesee and from the adirondacks south of the st. lawrence to the headwaters of the susquehanna, i've come to the east from the west and middle. there were the great hill people, the hemp gatherers, the goat milkers and those of the granite stone. the hustlers, the shirtless, the halfway house guests. the keeper of the wampum let me in, and the mishtapeuat whispered my vision as i passed on by. the withered raconteur juggled and gestured, stay, stay little lobita, hear my story, share my tobacco and whiskey, listen. i kept on, carrying buckets of rain and postcards, and faces, ego and pain, i kept on, exchanging with the breeze on the mighty water in belfast, words with the ranger, glances with the weavers. there was the logger in the woodlands, and the fly-fisherman on the rio. the great grandmothers, the milliners, the brothers and the worshipers, i kept on. i loved the old storied one, i will forever love the wampum keeper. the faces of the cards in my pocket morphed, swelled, multiplied. it is you i have stopped for, my partner of physical rite, the keeper of my moon, stirrer of the sweet hunny. the carrier of my papoose.

( )

hey water,

sorry i didn't get back to you earlier. i felt out of sorts all day. what a sweet request. thank you. i can't imagine there is a more colorful corner on earth than vermont just after the hunter's moon. dreamy. i slept alone in smuggler's notch. woke up to the first frost. my feet were frozen solid i swear! i saw a bald eagle migration right then and there as the sun dueled the moon for the time's keeper. as i got into town the clouds were nesting in the valley hiding all the trees, an icy blanket on the farmer's land turned the rolling hills pale and there was steam stirring just above his streams and ponds. when the moon finally gave in a burst of color reclaimed the day. each and every morning. it's fall into winter. robert frost country is a dream of life and death. 'the woods are lovely, dark and deep...' i had lake willoughby and her trails all to my own on a sunny afternoon. i drove the back roads through the kingdom, picked apples and ate cider doughnuts. i got lost in the green mountain national forest, day-dreaming near a nameless perfect stream. i climbed mount mansfield in a day's effort -- the north ridge trail from halfway house to sunset ridge is both horrific and stunning. i made peace with the mountain 4,400 ft up as i ate an avocado with an old hunting knife a new friend had loaned me (it belonged to his father). the boy at the chin, employed by the green mountain club, nearly rivaled the view of the adirondacks, champlain, canada and beyond. . i love vermont and thought of you and your truck and your life once there.

love

air

bertrude's dream((((((((((())))))))))))))))))

it was a brunchy hour and i was at a place that had the class of teller's in lorenzo, however it was smaller and more eurosmooth in terms of the clientele- there was a soft hazy jazz drifting over me and i was at the bar rapping with all these glamorous people and wondering when i would see you as i knew you must b working dear. and though it was early i was cozed in a big delicious glass of suave oaky red wine and i kept looking into it and entering dream upon reverie and somehow imagining what it would b like if i was to hav tears tumbling into my glass . a nice fellow and his girlfriend were talking to me and smiling but i think i was just barely able to keep smiling until he said " hanz?" " yeah," i said and smiled. his girl was lovely and they were both darkhaired italian looking spanish types. i might hav askd for a glass of ice water you know me. there might hav been a macchiato drifting somewhere in the picture there were mexican garreteros bussing tables everywhere smiling in their white shirts and black ties pants and shoes and everyone was lighthearted and then you came out of the back from near behind the bar and you were carrying a large tray of peoples' brunch dreams come true and in a beige headband around your auburn hair that made you look like an angel . i was overcome with feelings and i thought you were so beautiful i couldnt even talk to you. it was as though we knew each other but i didnt know what you would do if you saw me would you come up to me and kiss me and hav a drink of my wine - could you b getting off work and we could hav mimosas and omelettes and fruit- pineapple strawberries pear and oranges and dont forget the grapes/////////i ordered more wine and i was rapping with all these gorgeous socialites of the breakfast realm but you are the dreamiest my dreamsy sweet dream***********************

*

*

wishbone,
bald eagles do look angry, but i've never thought them to be so. if anything, they're just a little disgruntled on account of us taking their land and all. and then to add insult to, you know what they say, injury, we plaster their faces on aluminum urns and things as our national symbol of freedom. i mean, if they don't yearn for the days of the natives, then there is nothing left i do understand. melanie is working on the saving the planet. rox had me type up an angry letter to her elderly sister-n-law for sending her an email implying that obama is the muslum anti-christ the book of revelations warned us of. i've never seen her so upset. my aunt katie said great aunt elizabeth would probably never speak to us again. good riddens. been making some sweet postcards out of photocopied polaroids and scrap cardboard, then i merrow the seams, getting a little better on that sewing rig. working on making some moccasins and muclucks. once i get it right i will make you a pair of each. can you keep an eye out for used leather coats that i can cut up? my relationships with both on lei and clara have been really great lately. clara and i have been doing this interpretive dance mid-afternoon. it's about cutting a giant melon in half and sharing it. susan, the accountant, brought me some mint, it's of a thick and fuzzy nature, not the kind you can dry up and make tea with. there are loads of different strands of mint. she kept telling me to throw it in the pan when i'm cooking chicken. i realized how far i've come from my omnivore days because i almost barfed when i had a visual of that frying pan. instead it'll just sit on my desk next to the aloe plant and the strange flowering asian number annie gave me. talk about approaching total godessness. it would be good to chill with you and bertititous. i'm off to vermont at the end of the week, in search of gooseberries under the hunter's moon. you never know, things have been way out of alignment lately.
peace and hunny,
dew

seven unbound cliche's

(1)

i hope the autumn finds you in happiness
dear i wouldnt want for you to settle for less
youre happily wed and it makes me feel dead
i live thru the lives of heroes in books that i 've read
what shall i do
tonight gives no clue

honey i can't sleep
i can't do the things that used to keep
me going in a dreamscape sweetheart never this day

i don't wnat to be a pilgrim anymore
pilgrim
because pilgrims just get robbed
and i'm tired of the trail
war is not very cute- especially when it's not working
military intelligence is a contradiction in terms
i'm reverting to the underground as we get stronger and quieter
but i'll remember you who gave me a chance as my chances grew thinner
i remember your beautiful autumn face over dinner

*

(2)

i'm being ripped apart by harpy eagles
screaming and laughing
they save my heart for the end
they save the sky
they save my friend

a core of light
a speck of sight
then my eyes bring a solitary flash all their own
i call your name
i remember how few the shadows
that refracted light most heavenly to me

i leap and i feel the wind below me
but i lay my somber reflections in the sky above
in my lonely studio is where i part with all her best
putting the end of music to the test
we've all been dreaming/ me especially
the supernumeraries watch me but i wake up
stirring and betiding my subsequent o watch the sun watch
the coctail tables- peter framptom-
i'm dancing on your table
i think i am crying jenny


*


(3)

hello painful guitar
hello tearful piano
goodbye cheerful drums
marching on marching on
i miss my love o i believe
she will always b mine

the moon gives me plenitudinous light
to lay free reign giving way
to dearest fright
for flashbacks and wonderment
of what it could hav been like with her
a flashlight blinds me
her short auburn gamin's hair it finds thee
o how lucky and winsome and athletic you must be
o my lord
i am at your door on my knees
my fake plastic knees
her arms will swim me
to the islands by some forecasted shore
begging for more
forgetting the years
"ooh baby i love your way"


*



(4)


oh natale
who's baby do you have
when will the season change
why am i not deranged
why can't i be ---- where is my love at last ----

the turbulence of stars
the hiding clouds are ours
oh look at me once again with that sly look
then let me sleep on your couch again
sleep sleep sunrise
coffee and bailey's
the march 2003 war protest
one million people in the streets of barcelona
if grandpa can run with the milf then i can have a girlfriend
of a saturday
*

(5)


i thought i was crying because i said goodbye to jeff howie
killian bomstad vito heather
but it was you my only
your arms around me forever
i try to recall girls i felt in love with
in recent memory almost lying to myself and to my books
tempted to charge head first into the glass
sara reba kelda brandy (
though that was short lived and only lust driven
lust driven
cloyingly moistly forbidden) forbidden a beverly hills celebrity home
though i tried to scale the fence i ended in the sea
i ended at the playboy mansion
i will always have a friend in lawrence


*
(6)
fuck this place
except for the coasts
i'll take them both



*
(7)
it's sunday again
did you wake up with your boy
i'm resting in the sadness
of the day i avoid


*

hb



i went my daddy's house
where his daddy died
i've never understood this place
but at least i tried


*

re: the brewers post-season

dear bal,
hi again. i'm not sure if the brewer's were able to get their money's worth of that coveted wild card. thing is, priest has been so busy, and you moved far, far away, and besides priest took the packers off his favorites radar when favre left and none of the bizzes like sports so i kinda gave em up for the rest of 08, and with the state of affairs and all. i mean, bal, the dow dropped over 7-hundy in one day, and there are the wars and everything. shit. but it feels kinda good to climb onto one of those bar stools at the palace and watch baseball with the neighbors while the laundry is in. if you think about it, we won the ncaa so that is a good time to leave the whole arena, at least for the year. oh, and the environment, bal, the ice shelves are fucking breaking. .

...

naglikpok, ungayok, pinnariyok

three ways to say love in canadian-eskimo.
ᑕᑯᑦᓱᒍᓱᑉᐳᖅ is love in syllabic inuktitut.

weekend dedicated to bj surhoff

stevezy just reminded me of this milwokee legend, as the brewers beat the cubs for the wild-card today.
some stats at: http://www.baseball-reference.com/s/surhob.01.shtml
also, i just read his dad dick played in the nba and his brother rick was a relief pitcher in 9 games mlb!! dick, rick and bj all makin it pro.