4/17/08–1 . Click those ruby slippers all you want my dear. You can never go home.
4/18/08–2. No Exit–standing in the living room of hell, one must first define.
4/19/08–3. Leaving Eden we tell each other simple lies like micro fiction.
4/20/08–4. We count shooting stars. Put them in a jar under a hillbilly moon.
4/21/08–5. Two old men sit in the park. Waiting for Godot. Waiting for silence.
4/22/08–6. Carving Santa Claus out of cedar like I was Pinocchio’s dad.
4/23/08–7. Childhood can never be taken away, unless you wear prairie clothes.
4/24/08–8. Stuck in Candy Land: sugar, spice—reality snaps like a wet towel.
4/25/08–9. Las Vegas lights–street corner Mexicans hand out call girl photographs.
4/26/08–10. Would Jim Croce pay this much for a burger? Uptown’s got its hustlers.
4/27/08–11. On the road with too much magic bus seems fitting to end the beat scene.
4/28/08–12. 30 poems in 30 days has sucked my word bank dry–strained and drained.
4/29/08–13. Ancient Chinese move like a slow motion ribbon–grasping sparrow’s tail.
4/30/08–14. Sometimes I am Brautigan at Bolinas without a word to my name.
5/4/08–15. One day the woods are brown bare. Overnight a green curtain is pulled across.
5/5/08–16. Something came out of the woods and ate the heads off our chickens—Ozzy?
5/8/08–17. Ginsberg: one part con, one part marketing genius, and one part poet.
5/9/08–18. Passing through Duluth I see Dylan fishing from desolation row.
5/10/08–19. Redstart out my window. Sits on birch branch and sings the alarm at five.
5/13/08–20. Old people have sex at Holiday Inn while I watch the Tonight Show.
5/14/08–21. Objibwa harvest wild rice on Gitche Gumee, preserving the past.
5/17/08–22. My baby graduated from college and is off to change the world.
5/21/08–23. Sometimes it is not what you say but what you don’t that makes the difference.
6/12/08–24. Two doves pick this Ozark home, put down some roots in this oak wood holler.
6/21/08–25. Flea Market Sale: someone else’s memories individually wrapped.
6/24/08–26. There comes a day when falling down the rabbit hole sometimes hurts like hell.
6/26/08–27. Sometimes living in a 5/7/5 world is just easier.
6/28/08–28. Would Papa always press the double muzzles against his forehead while cleaning?
7/4/08–29. The car bombs bursting in air gave proof through the night that our flag was still there.
7/14/08–30. Under a midnight moon cicadas sing the last summer song of death.
10/25/08–31. I wanted her to tell him nothing about Brautigan was minor.