updates on the round brown world of kraft liner

another poem only published in Post Amerika. small presses deserve any support you can offer.

on a couple of days off here. still trying to learn a few basic differences between Vista and XP, though for the most part, think the new computer is working out OK.

now that the new contract is in effect (and retro-active to last March), the big concern about the mill is the potential (prfe-destined?) change in ownership. 4 possible buyers are out there at the present, and will start to make the rounds of the various mills late this month and early next month (when our little piece of paradise will be evaluated). that has tons of implications, some good - some not so good, some potentially disastrous and some potentially great. As with everything, it waits to be seen. Anyway - so much for updates on the universe.

now, back to the poetry:



FROST ON THE FOG

1
frost on the fog
i face the apparition

my heart is the breeze
broken by the obsidian rock
of that place

where the mountain stumbled
into the aqua-grey of the sea

i face the apparition
of what i was supposed to be
battered & perfect bastard

2
kelp on the black waters
broken boats moored as promises to be kept
broken boats nothing more
than scrap iron to be disassembled

there is no god i tell the mists
other than that which is truth
there is no truth the frozen fog replies
other than that which is holy

mumbling seals in the dark surf
howl with delight at our discourse
they too waiting for godot
even if they did not know