wild child

"Style is the answer to everything.
A fresh way to approach a dull or dangerous thing.
To do a dull thing with style is preferable to doing a dangerous thing without it.
To do a dangerous thing with style is what I call art".

-Charles Bukowski
 

sometimes it is like there are crystals growing inside my heart, like everything jaggedy and beautiful pushing upwards and shattering. i can't think about it all at once; there is too much, too many ideas and too many rivers and too many dreams and too many heartaches. in my mind are images of everything from german barmaids to drowning kittens to smoking stumps of burned down redwoods to gypsy caravans with ancient symbols carved into their woodwork...and the cave of my heart explodes with fireworks in the dark.

tinker with a trellis

standing in the rain

a raft upheld for portage

a toolbox for my trade

i left a gal in bellingham

i left a gal in maine

i wander for a thousand miles

till i forget my name.

or maybe it's the changing seasons, a sweater at night now, red wine and a blooming moon.

or maybe it is that i have gone running three times this week with emily and/or darin, and endorphins are swimming in my skin.

maybe it is dirty hair in braids, and sticky legs from blossoming sage in the fields.

a tree stump for a chair, the first photos of a baby growing inside my beautiful friend becky, the boys playing music and passing around a flask in a meadow.

maybe it is simply being surrounded by books all day.

my friends sometimes i think i will fly away.