write poems

When we
used to go
skiing…

...we’d take the
VW pop-top and
sardine everyone
inside.

We’d sleep below the
parking lot
at Mt. Ashland,
some of us outside
in the snow under
a big, cold moon.

We’d ski the
next day after a breakfast
of chilly oranges.
My brother B and I
in our old holely Levis
and ancient military
surplus down
jackets patched
with duct tape.

Whenever I’d crash,
hat and goggles flying,
my long, dirty hair
getting a snow-wash,
down would fountain
high into the air through
the holes around the tape.

My Levis’d be soaked
and it was cold
riding that chair
back up, butt freezing
and duct tape flapping.

hf_matty

_cursing, out here
in the middle of nowhere’s
back forty_

_too busy
trying to shoot
the navigational
stars
to notice
the oil pressure
gauge_

in the red

_sudden knowledge
that those droning motors
were going to stop
over this desert of
ocean_

_how beautiful
those stars look now!
over all this dark
water_

hf_m)))

(for R. Brautigan)

yes,

there was wind today
and our breath spilled
from our nostrils
to hide from the cold

yes,

there was sun today
and our hearts were glad
and our eyes were bright
and squinty

yes,

there was rain today, too
but it was a dry rain
and our body heat made it
evaporate

and,

at night & in bed
the stars wink
benevolently
above the clouds

I reflect on
this remarkably
unremarkable day

hf_m))))