Winter in Montana, Pt. 2

The first snow of winter

Is always a limp thing.

It is uncertain, non-committal,

Half rain, just Jack Frost's spittle.

It is redeemed by the first real snow,

Which is not interrupted, which grows

Into fluffy, downy ground pillows,

So that when Jack Frost's full fist is upon

Us, we might be cushioned.

An Act of Creation

Thus spake God unto the angels:

“Okay, what we're gonna do here

Is take a grizzly bear, and shrink it down,

and make it really, really like English,”

The results of the experiment, after nearly thirty years:

For starters, I always wear a beard.

I'm well-insulated for cold weather,

and I always want to shut myself in and write all winter.

Grow a Pair

A new pair of glasses

For the new academic –

They don't hide themselves (the frames are thicker).

They do enwide themselves (the lenses are bigger).

They do not represent a new look,

Just a little black White Flag to the book,

Just the perfect transition

From a closet full of sporting goods and skeletons.

Every Other Time Around

The first time is open-to-close,

A slow, straight, sequential slog through prose,

and most exciting, as it traces the unknown,

But once you're done,

You're free to start in the middle, or jump

From the first fruitful phrase to the next one,

and just generally read whatever story you want,

and that's the beginning of the real fun.

Nine Tenths

I didn't make it, but I polished it.

I didn't build it, but I furnished it.

I didn't forge it, but I sharpened it.

I didn't draw it, but I framed it.

I didn't earn it, but I saved it.

I didn't grab it, but I protected it.

I didn't write it, but I revised it.

I don't deserve it, but I want to keep it anyway.

Second Visit to the Optician

It is a special day,

A day when I stop seeing the world,

and start seeing into it,

See the beautiful more beautiful

and even see the ugly uglier.

It seems that something within me

Makes the world more of what it is than it is,

But it is not inside of me,

Only just outside, and bound to fade.

Then the world becomes the world again.

The Other Other 99%

I know about one percent of people I see in a day.

The ninety-nine percent make me want to get away,

Away from the traffic (blah blah break pedal blah),

Away from the long arm of civil law,

One percent as a precaution,

Ninety-nine percent to keep myself sane.

Soon enough, I will likely be gone,

Out of the fire into somebody else's fire.