Camp fire grilled cheese
and
a garbage bag sled
Bring in the new year
@-15 degrees
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About Me
- Dale Hunt
- He's become comfortable in that ol' civil war jacket. What would compliment that mess of hair? A sage cigarette, a bottle in his hand and a book in his pocket. A hobo at heart a drunk by night and a rambling pain. Tired and old before his time. Studying the greats Bukowski, Tom Waits William S. Burroughs and Hunter S. Thompson, Kerouac and John Steinbeck. Drinking Brandy and Cockspur rum from the bottle. Hiding down South for the winter months running from the cold and consequence.
1 comment:
For You
i notice how
you fail to front
your self
in the lens
of the peek holed
amber eyed
remarkable bond
of your trampsing
it might not be
an easy art
delving in to public
facelessness of time
and madness
but here on a snowy hill
when slices of fatherly
veins knuckle over
like nose scars
crimped by the grip
of a man and his son
in winter
seducing sweet momma grouse
with incredibly wild laughter
without a thought
to even consider
what have we done
to really wake up
the better parts
of what we see and feel
can i say
there must be more?
what ails you to sing?
the embers are not out
the dying hilarity
the mockery is ripe
you are flying south!
if the cackling of crows
swooping over stumps
hideously frozen
in death masks
of memory
ever make you hold your
breath
like a leg
stuck in a trap
pick the lock
i know you know
how
listen
i yearn for your
loquaciousness
your soul pouring
way words
that build back the world
from the wreckage
of dream, dawn and hope
Fraser
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