Monday, December 24, 2012

Bolted Places

I find refuge in the bolted places. Look. A bolt, a climbing route, an opportunity to commune with lichen and rock. Stuck there in the eternal spot, enabling the climber to breathe hard, to move up, to progress from the leaf-strewn forest floor to the bright sun. To top out and look. And see far.

I like seeing far...

Longs Peak, Solstice 2012

Friday, December 21, 2012


The old dragging desolation
the surety that nothing is right
Thought I'd licked it
Left it at 14000 feet
Fifty-eight times over

I try

Believe me I try
I build mansions
of red tinsel
stuffed gift bags
alcohol and cherries


They are houses of cards
so much morning trash

Breaking up is hard to do