NTITLEDU
John Lennon never sounded so
good as when he laid his
guitar against a live amp
walking away with Eric Clapton
following suit.
Federico Garcia Lorca never
was more poetic than
being assassinated either in a darkened
room or while gazing at the moon.
the death poems of Zen masters conveying
a perfect final message while
summing life and making
obsolete the same life.
not fearing death as it has already
located me without seeking.
is this poem the final
perfect summation of?
– I wrote this.
Lewis and Clark started their homeward journey today in 1806, two years after the journey had begun. I miss my wife’s cooking and my own bed. I fell in love with the visceral Appalachians on my way out here and am living in anticipation to begin the journey through them again. but that will have to wait.
the platitudes of willful resemblance 