the platitudes of willful resemblance

the up portion of both arms is sunburned from riding a motorcycle on a beautiful day. This isn’t a complaint – I enjoyed the ride. Due to the over exposure to the sun I have found more energy that I am straining to know what to do with. This is not a complaint – I like the energy. I think my garage should be my focus and maybe buying a basket case motorcycle and putting it all together again – something to do but the garage is a mess and must come first.

Today is Federico Garcia Lorca’s birthday. Happy birthday my compatriot – your end was too soon and violent – this is a complaint.

I am rereading Moby Dick – last read over twenty years ago. I hardly remember the book – this isn’t a complaint.

The air is full of birds chatter and cackling squirrels running, chasing and enjoying the bounty of acorns  that have begun to litter my yard. – this is a half non-complaint.

Apples have no bearing on the proximity of doctors.

here is a poem…

butterflies in my beard

–        for Micael Chadwick

skies painted dioxazine, phthalocyanine,
violet, prussian, phthalo blues and greens
cerulean and sunkissed naples yellow

portraits of madmen at 35 and aging
midnight scenes on the arroyo
crossing lethean black waters
held fast to the stern

I have ultramarine oils
smeared across my forehead
because of you

butterflies in my beard
and cadmium red
staining my fingertips
because of you

we have met under porches
moonlit nights
waltzing, caroling

my heart has broken
handheld and shopped for nothings
with birds singing
and faces picked up in backyards

– Hoc Scripsi