written things.

... mostly just to move from the myspace blog. not particularly revised or edited.

when it didn't rain

the fog here is different

isn't driven by some oceanic force

or broken by late morning light.

it as if the earth and the ocean

have no means of conveyance

here and the sky

is lost in the middle somewhere

the fog here appears,

and dissipates

with no rhythm

and no relevance

it hangs low, on the river, wetting

and then

is gone.

some temperature related accident.

underfinished

my pockets filled with

moments

memories

pieces of past and 

subterranean places

feeling, inside, an ashen old woman without a cart,

a little boy with cookie crumb secrets.

my pockets packed with sand

bits of earth and ocean

full of words and phrases

breathes and blank spaces,

slipping through the seems

and sliding down my legs.

broken glass and stone slice curious fingers

reaching in and grains of sand stop the bleeding.