Ketchup for breakfast

I went camping once.

On the way there I drove faster than I should have, and before anybody else arrived I was already somehow bleeding. I camp hard. When the rest of us manly men finally showed up there was a collection of firearms and bravado that rivaled that of the O.K. corral. It seems there is something magical in that Y chromosome that gets off on gunpowder.

Last night is a happy blur of testosterone-induced comradarie, cold air, hot fire, tall tales, bottle rockets, oscar meyer and ballpark.

---


I was the first one up, the first to set out and forage for signs of life. I will tell you the things I found.

The barn smells musty. Outside, the tasteless grey shingles covering two sides are old and crumbling away to reveal portions of peat colored planks, aged to perfection and ripe with splinters. Inside the air is colored with light that struggles to penetrate the dusty windows, whose panes have attained that almost wrinkly quality, the poor posture that sets in with the passing of good years. Mouse dirt clutters the corners of the swept floor.

This morning is foggy.

It is cold, cold enough to see the breath blowing out of my big smile. The valley I am in is long. Near the far end of it (somewhat obscured by the mist) the grass is un-mowed, and there are a few trees planted with tall PVC pipes to protect them from hungry deer. We used the pipes to measure off distance for our makeshift rifle range. The grass itself is mostly free of frost, except for a few patches here and there; however, the left over limbs, cut logs, and benches arranged in a big circle around the fire pit all have patterns etched onto them by the cold. The maples by the river are all bare, making the smattering of evergreens dispersed among them even more striking. The stand of pines up on the hill seems to resent them for leaving, but begrudgingly regards them as family. The embers are still glowing from last night, leftovers from when I sat by them wishing to share their warmth with you. They need my attention, so I give it. I root around in the crumbled, smoldering bits of charcoal on the outside edges looking for small sticks that maybe (ironically) escaped the same tongues of flame whose heat protected them from the frost. Finding a few, I break them, and place them on top of a handful of the driest wet cut grass I can find. A few deep breaths later and the fire flickers to life. More twigs. Several trips to the stack of logs later I am out of breath, but my warm companion has fully caught its own. God stops by, and we enjoy each others company in silence.

---

This morning for breakfast we dined on hotdog buns, which were skewered and toasted over the fire and then garnished with mayo and ketchup (we somehow miscalculated the number of dogs to buns). We also produced from the cooler some cream cheese, which was clumsily spread with someones dirty pocketknife. More shooting, and then clean up. Considering that we collected and burned nearly every bit of brush and trash within a ten mile radius, I would opine that we left the place looking better than we found it. One stop at sheetz, a much needed shower and emergency nap later, and I am back in civilization. In the world, but not of the world.. so to speak.

This weekend (this morning in particular) the words of a song played in my head.

Could we with ink the ocean fill
and were the skies of parchment made
Were every stalk on earth a quill
and every man a scribe by trade

To write the love of God above
would drain the oceans dry
Nor could the scroll contain the whole
though stretched from sky to sky.

I like life.

Psalm 148

High centered

You only belong to me in videos.

Here, pieces of you sing out to me like the sea
caught in a digital Conch shell.
I lift you out of the surf and
placing you near my cheek
crane my heart for every byte of your voice.

Your words pour out
drift out
lap out
and trickle down to my chin
past lips that can't decide if they want to curl up

or quiver.

taxi

i am a taxi driver

you are my tourist

welcome to my black and white

times new roman cab.

hop on in

split the fare with a vivid description

a memory of maryland

or a few scroungy lines

that do a terrible disservice

to the vibrant colors of fall

and the languishing uncertainties of those in between years.

theres plenty of room inside for you

and your baggage

so spread out.

do you know

just a day or so ago i was heading to the same address?

6402 memory lane

(you have your crafty tricks, i have mine!)

the open carport where the apples once sat

the only thing ripening now an f150.

there were fat logs chaotically arrayed under the tall oaks

the ones standing in a sort of a circle

like a grove of cool kids

passing around a cigarette.

i thought perhaps i saw a shy girl

tall for her age peeking around them

with wondering eyes

at an invisible boy who would surely have enjoyed

racing her brother down the hill on bicycles until one

or both

wore bloody limbs like

badges of honor

flush with the scent of adventure.

how warm a thought

and how bitter

to love a home and leave it.

Glove

cold weather is an old friend
she comes back after a while
and knows me well.
we tell secrets, and lies in spite
of however long it's been between visits
she fits like a glove.

out of the coal

out of the shit climbs a seed
dusts itself off
and becomes a tree
tree falls
squirrels, ants, rats crawl around in it
carry it away
tree rots
lies forgotten under its posterity
after
a
while
tree becomes coal
time
out of the coal climbs a diamond
dusts itself off
is you.

song- pennsylvania

pennsylvania

V1
corn is shoulder high and gardens spring to life
along a country road near meyersdale just north of
the mason dixon line i know it sounds cliche, but hey
this green place feels like it could be called home

just down the road two little churches stand together
twins, their steeples poking white holes in the blue sky
you and i declare the air is clean and clear as day and hey
this green place feels like it could be called home

CHORUS
but thats easy to say in pennsylvania
its just hard to explain
it aint easy to stay in pennsylvania
its just hard to walk away

V2
pickup trucks are limousines on saturday night
get your girl all prettied up a tshirt tux and steel toe boots
are all the rage, its been that way since ever since
back before i could remember

just down the road is mom and dads place
holidays just arent the same since they passed on
i wish i'd gone a few more times to say hello
the autumn sure is pretty- the winter's rough
but it still beats the city here

CHORUS
but thats easy to say in pennsylvania
its just hard to explain
it aint easy to stay in pennsylvania
its just hard to walk away

BRIDGE
so go on young man try to find yourself out there
you'll be back before its time to harvest corn
theres just somethin 'bout a july whiporwill
a lazy summer night can make you feel reborn

v3
the weeds are shoulder high and gardens cling to life
along a country lane near wellersburg just north of
the mason dixon line i know it sounds cliche, but hey
this green place feels like it could be called home

CHORUS
but thats easy to say in pennsylvania
its just hard to explain
it aint easy to stay in pennsylvania
its just hard to walk away

yea thats easy to say in pennsylvania
its just hard to explain
it aint easy to stay in pennsylvania
its just hard to walk away

Summer's Song

wrote this song waaay back in high school and just re-did it for acoustic guitar.

VIDEO:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=if18SFOqcdM

babe lets go for a ride
i promise to be good
if you let me drive
lets roll these windows down
and let the night in
this night is young
and so are we
no one can touch
the way i see
the road ahead or you
reclining smiling up at me

summers song is calling
i can hear it
in the wheels as they turn
lets forget yesterday and burn
summers song is calling
i can feel it in your wind blown hair
this car cant go fast enough

lets run away from here
to find ourselves we'll lose
our shadows and fear
lets leave the past behind
for a little while
yesterdays gone
tomorrow might never come
all we have is now
so make the most
of every second
press the pedal harder baby

summers song is calling
i can hear it
in the wheels as they turn
lets forget yesterday and burn
summers song is calling
i can feel it in your wind blown hair
this car cant go fast enough

summers song is calling
i can hear it
in the wheels as they turn
lets forget yesterday and burn
summers song is calling
i can feel it in your wind blown hair
this car cant go fast enough