Cartography for Moseying Cowboys

Some things about my awareness of time never change. It takes longer to get someplace than it does to get back. Waiting slows a clock down. Time flies when you're having fun. A watched pot never boils. Friends
always wait to arrive until after you've started looking for them out the window.

This chair is so comfortable. It seems the Platonic ideal of chairness. Everything about my body is consumed by it's conturs, it's leathery texture a second skin, it's seat cushions my worry. The chair devours time and place completely.

It is not a difficult decision, but rather, a choice to decide or not to. Sit or get up. Stay or go. Be or become. These are all actions, all arguments for motion in one direction or another. In the interm, deferment becomes a viable option.

Clouds thump wind visible

Parked cars boulder wait

Adjectival conversation elucidates

That fog is mysterious should come as no surprise

An alligator becomes tangled in a cotton patch

A brainstorm thunders, distantly authentic

Thanks to words
I can assert and salve
My fears (ours are real --
       consequential frequently).

A dandelion's blast
Makes all directions
Possible.





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