Boss just called & told me I have a job coming up in Brooklyn. Trip to the city paid for by the company. I am going to hump all of the walls on the train to New York, just like this little guy. & then I’m going to see my best friend who I miss like crazy jupiter whoa.
(Source: happyhappyist)
Friday I was sampling wells at an old tank farm in Waterford. The groundwater was silvery with petroleum, & when I noticed it coming out of the walls of this rockface, I sent these pictures to my boss with this,
“Tell me sir, does that water coming out of the rocks look shiny, or is that just me…”
His response;
“in the fullness of my obduracy, i am forced to admit… it looks like ahl there, jeb. mebbe we got a ahl wale summer.”
Cambrian Geological’s Rule of F’s
Without fail, in Fairfield, on Friday, at Fairprene, if there is Fieldwork, expect rain.
Because people always ask me what I do when I tell them that I sniff dirt…& the craziness of my thoughts in the process:
The air is a silver vapor, & the light rain is a dripping spell of old oil. My knees have started mimicking the cold rattle of dead leaves & they are full with the shiver of longleaps & greypits & deep gonemorning.
Once, I watched a buck rut out a doe in the trampled field.
Then too was a morning like this, a morning of blue jays; the kind that comes after the garnet blossom of a cardinal through the yellow grass.
Brief. Ephemeral. & now to work: I watch the clay turn to dollar signs, our country’s emblem, & I can almost taste the blood of a departed home; the life blood of America that is our poison entirely. My hands, along the memory of ink, are lined with rust welts & caked dirt, & I have lost the march of coffee in my veins. Lost the long strides of dawn.
I am trying to keep the sun behind me though, & to let the sky run through the redgold pitcher of autumn. For now.
For now. For now. Until.
