My current trend in writing is to treat it like bits of code. Debugging as time goes on (fixing spelling/grammarish issues).

Most of these poems will rest the way they are written, but given time and interest many will see a patches or 2 before it is over.

12.23.2005

thumbing around
1 of 3

the first time I ever hitched
was in the middle of the witch's tit
winter's thermal garment in full forceful fluff
  the downhill ski
  the snow shoe
all more useful
than what I was progressing to a lesson with
  cobbled shoe
  duct tape sole
skidding over
  ice patches
  into snow bluffs
heading due south
all the while looking for that
door's waiting step

once i was warned not to slip
cause if we clear our
  cement step
  our wooden stoop
of snow and ice
  liable
  as the day is wrong
but if we
  laze about all day
  sip hot cocoa
  stuff turtles necks
  leave the steps alone
let the snow pile up till you can’t
  get the mail
  go for groceries
it will be god’s own will
  when the slip slaps down
  when the back breaks
  when the knee bends
no one else is left to blame

so,
i stood there
stood very still
far to one side of the lane
and the thumb was there
was extended upwards
jutting above the fist
  like a little plow
  or moses and his water rift
we all make our own way
through the fluid dynamics
  into the wild
  into the blossoms

we both waited
the thumb and i
  extended
  out there
while the blizzard billowed
hoping
that the truck gone snow scoop
  who was just blowing by
might make a bus stop
out of the road side
and plow me
my thumb
and
the snow

nope.

maybe it was the axe in my other hand
untuned
or the job that just had
to be done alone
so, i
on the snow
paced
one shoe
then the
next
the rest of the way
in the fresh
slit path
of the plough
followed it
to the doors cleared step
and didn't fall

yet

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