Hierophany

Here I am

hanging onto

your wretchedly

wonderful world.

This entry posted by J Rand : 21:54

1
Complete games
aren’t what they used to be—
bullpens exploding.


2
Pitcher wipes his brow,
sun peaks out from clouds—
there goes the runner!


3
It’s lonely on the bench
when you’re pitching well—
no-hitter brewing.


4
Ash tree gave its life
for a thousand home runs—
Hall of Fame material.


5
It’s past my bedtime
but I’ll listen all night—
extra innings.

This entry posted by J Rand : 10:21

The artillery moan
of a gas-drunk   Ditch Witch
rents this peaceful afternoon
as muscled men set it loose
upon my restless neighbor's
green, complacent yard.
They take turns chewing up the ground,
carving out a magazine walkway,
lining the gash with shale.
And the sod that grew so willingly
sits balled-up in a dumpster,
growing stale.

This entry posted by J Rand : 22:45

To you, this cabernet:
But not for my wallet
I couldn’t have bought it.
Its complexion of garnet,
and suggestion of leather,
leave me drunk and unfit,
and you light as a feather.

This entry posted by J Rand : 09:52

endless trains
            plow under
these hills of rusty clay
            pulled by a team
of mournful     donkeys

the whistle bray
echoes
            among black tongue cattle

circling turkey
           vultures
       tidy the roads,
protect             fallow ground

on the track
there is wall…

rock elm & crimson dogwood
crudely
            woven        together
with      inner tubes     &
ropes    of               boiled
            fiber

the station is long gone.
            no cookies
nor carrots
            can please the blinded team
& the steel      boxes
                      with lovely graffiti
won’t slow down

This entry posted by J Rand : 20:49

My uncle, a climatologist,
suggests that global warming
could cause the melting of the
“northern passages” once impassable
to the likes of Henry Hudson
or John Cabot or his son Sebastian searching
for a route to the spices & silks
of the East Indies at the behest
of royalty their county’s or not.
Imagine: the northern passage is a convenient
shipping route from, say, Shanghai
to NYC forget the skinny Panama Canal
or slow trains or coffeed truckers.

This entry posted by J Rand : 06:54

No coldness
No coldness,  no
He was cold even as a
child
He was autistic,
they thought.
A problem w/
interactions &
communication.
We drove him to this
We drove him to this,  no
We were the stagecoach
The trial and the plain
The embrace of a coast
happy to see
any human being
We were all of these things
We were behind the wheel
We were behind the wheel,  no.

This entry posted by J Rand : 09:31

gonna make my
life easier gonna
saves me a lot of
time now I’ll
give my dog the
shampoo    &
food bowl he need
now I’ll
sit & read the
unwrapped newspaper
in that re-upholstered
loveseat, the one you
stretched & pulled
w/ your own hands,
w/ the nails of
the last several years,
unpainted but well-kept.

This entry posted by J Rand : 07:36