i ride my bike through the cemetery pretty often

[preface: these are recycled, remixed snippets from years gone by.]

this morning on my way to class i saw two men digging. laid out on the grass was a wooden form made out of two by fours, just the right size...

i want some things. and then i want other things. which things do i want most?  full of quiet trees and silence

i want some things
not just casually either. i really do. should i? which things are worth wanting?
new jeans, not so much.
new life... i don't know. 

it is autumn, and everything is dying. pheonix like, all in flames...
it would be hard, after all, to dwell day after day on our inevitable mortality. 

and which things are worth waiting for? kisses. phone calls. chocolate. christmas.

gravedigging.

not seriously thinking about it, but you never can tell.
would it stifle my creativity? i don't know.
would it be a good use of an english major?
seems a lovely place.

would i like it? no idea.  

like the weeping woman, and the one in the shape of a giant sphere. the humongous catholic crosses, as ornate as anything and beautiful.

except for when the sprinklers come on... then it's rather full of puddles and shredded rainbows.

their shovels cut into the ground little by little, outlining the grave. i wondered what they were talking about, or if they were talking. maybe they're detached from the meaning.

detached enough?

[2005. 2006. 2015]