Note From My Moleskine #7

July 6, 2009

7 July 2009
Ellicottville, NY

The charred remains of
last night. My breath
like a bull’s
steaming a capital “A”
with the scruff of
my chin as the
crossbar.
Only the upper leaves
move. They spill
the last of the last
rainstorm into the waiting
roots of the brush below–
and a slow bubbling stream
that only exists when it
rains.
I can never sleep for
these things. Too much
stimulation. Take me
out of the city and I’ll
stay awake for days,
just dozing occasionally
like a golden retriever.
–!–
I hear something in the
woods and wonder what it
was, what it will be.

The charred remains of
last night. A tripod coated
with dew. A stripped
branch, forced into the earth.
My cigarette butts.
Finally the sun reaches me.
A jet banks to the
east, towards everyone
I love. I have walked
through the woods and around
the lake, around its outside.
I slipped across rocks and
toed roots. I glimpsed,
for a moment,
a slug,
trailing mucus across
the charred remains of last
night. It was a master
slug, speckled and horned.

I’m growing quite tired
with all this sunlight.

The charred remains of
last night. Two slugs trying
not to make eye contact.
Somewhere, someone
is cutting down the forest.
The jets pass over me
more frequently
as the world begins its day.

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