A sampling of about 25 years of writing within this book:
* How to get known, without recognition? A collision of thoughts, that's near a decision. Black Dog Red, to, Feed My Head, confirm wake up with gibberish said. Now fight us a good fight through all the debris. That's it, to the edge of the storm where your life's on a tree. We know it's a storm like in Wizard of Oz. It was written in contracts with highlighted clause.
* I want to know that age again, when I was just a boy of ten, when hide and seek was played for kicks, and war a game in woods with sticks. Until the mist of Hunting Hush, scouted over rock and brush, as fog to silence life and leaves, for giants reaching through the trees.
* You must travel through mist just to get to this land - the mist of a smoke ring, from space it looks grand. It lies in the shadow of lonely Mt. Baker - a mountain in exile as the Double Toke Taker!
* In the spring of . . . my own winter, sadness filled my empty cup. Then overflowed upon the floor. I watched in disbelief as rivers, of my tears ran out the door. Is this river - yet unnamed, a river, raging, never tamed, reserved for mother's tears that fell. Do all our tears reach Sorrow's Well?
* And the spirit world that loomed ahead knew well of my approach, commanding old-growth trees to part and guide my horseless coach. In kind, Wenatchee winds blew doubt from where the apples grow. And fragrant air began to warn the hills and valleys low. For trust in man, were not in verse of song or language known. In day walked man and trust at night
did stumble on alone.
* They whisper cause from cryptic lips, as names appear on bone made chips. With bet of age or . . . severed limb, the stakes are raised as candles dim. By Hoyle Rules the hand is fate, for whom will be the Boatman's date. Will I see the next day's sun, or die at Exit Thirty-one?
* Will the spirit of the wine caress her painted lips, wetting an appetite that will curl the edges to a smile with each wanton sip? Will the aroma of warm burning candles last into our evening, casting multiple shadows on walls of envy?
* I heard a black dog barkin', late into my nap. So, I bought a few ice-cold ones, to try and shut his yap. He thanked me for the Rainier smile then asked me if I'd stay. So, we sat upon a lovely rock way down at Shilshole Bay. He told me of this dear old lad who lived a tale they say. In fact, he was quite sure of it he lived past Yukmuck Bay. He told me of this dog named Duck it started out this way . . .
* Well, I'm thinkin' I might join a club. The one that insures Demopubs. Work a year on taxpayer backs to retire phat like Republarats. Kiss on babies, pork some bills, on Foggy Bottom's flattened hills, to ensure my medical pays so high, I won't hear the poor who cry. Yeah, I think I'm left if . . . Left is Right? No, center more - not green uptight. Make a stand, we'll back your fun! Says social media, Gov's sniper gun?
* Along the lower quarter pitchin' quarters gainst a wall, I heard a little story bout a Bayou Ball. Was a crazy Creole legend told of ladies long ago, they come around the years when the seven levies low. Say they was a picky bout a who attend their ball. Claim was, wind come, carry you the call!
* I watched a spider grow and grow. "Ick," I said, then said, "Whoa, you spun the biggest web I know. I'll name you Fred from She-caw-go." Then I watched Fred grow and grow, and catch a mouse right by the toe. He spun it up and ate it slow. Then he burped and I said, "Whoa, how big can a spider grow?"
And you will find so much more cover to cover!
Thanks, T.M.
