lost in gary

swing

Having wasted my first fifty years, I drift to the banks of the Mississinewa and sit

The rocks here are rocks, the water is water,
and the spiny branches of trees are not bones.
Clouds keep sliding away,
and nothing clutches at the sky.

Well, maybe I do.
Crow, keep your opinion to yourself.

northern winter, light and shade

accidents of light and shadow 2

why is there something, rather than nothing?

speech into silence

a theory about time and the body