by Tomorrow's Man
this is where I began.
This is where I begin.
I'm going to the end.
I'm arriveing here, the
end
comes off and I float down to the rafters,
smell the wood
as I pass it through on my way to the beginning
here again,
still,
where I began.
The first day of spring around here isn't on a calendar; it's the first day the sky opens with its wombfull of warm amniotic and baptizes everything south of Route 94, in ten minutes twice.
This is spring in Wisconsin; rivers rise, fear of floods, and skateboard punks tattooing "N.O.A.H." across their shoulder blades then spending the afternoon shredding lightning.
Pardon me; I'm off to do some surfing 'long Rt. 18.
Randomness Is the Heart of Excitement
Which is why I have decided to make these musings sometimes appear.
Which is why sometimes they will not.
Which is why the goldfish forgets he remembered to sing.
Which is why Sunday falls on Tuesdays in April.
Which is why baseball is the platypus of Zen.
Which is why one sentence can change the world just by saying so.
Which is why ambition glued to intention tempts magetic fates.
Which is why this is here now.
Which is why this may be here tomorrow.
Or even yesterday.
But more likely not yesterday.
But who knows.
Not even the Great Magnet.
Not even Charlie Brown.
But Charlie is here today, and that's pretty for sure.