when i grow up

i want, to fish with a 14ft rod and take mountainous breaths. to labor under lamps over strange and outdated instruments. to write and read, be a discoverer of language. to grow and be a father to gardens. to sing and be sung to. to learn more than teach, but teach nonetheless. to play tennis till i collapse. to sit for long periods of time and feel no pain. to stomp and get rowdy with late night music. to run in large chunks, with healthy feet. to eat perfectly, without remorse. to sleep on couches and not worry. i want green fields, white lines, and 22 humans far more often.

thriving is

I was born in Bowmansdale, Pennsylvania. Best thing is, the Yellow Breeches Creek flows nearby. Worst thing is, I now live half a world away. Good thing is, there are rivers where I live now. Bad thing is I can't fish or swim them with my brothers. Fortunately I am surviving. Unfortunately surviving isn't the goal. Thriving is. So I am finding new brothers and wading new rivers.

independence

Independence is overrated

and exploited

and dangerous

and lonely

and vast

and heavy

and revealing

and startlingly enough does not

equal Freedom.

utah is to blame

pennsylvania

is callin my name,

and utah is to blame,

for my wandering

has shown,

that there's a sickness...

called home.

i'm getting it

not sure why my mind is so wrapped up in rivers of late

but it is, and i am. left imagining.

the course of life on the Yellow Breeches

and a spring run hailed the LeTort

numbness is creeping into the bones of my feet.

getting cold feet. or is it hypothermia

two years into life miles from

a pennsylvanian jungle.

but humidity and mosquitos,

ticks and poison ivy,

guard even utopia from the faint at heart

from those who don't belong,

those who are convinced that

bigger is better.

farther is further.

louder is fuller.

i feel the river cooler, the water smoother

and im ok, need a break, but im getting it.

the freeze is now over

What's the hurry
what do you see that I don't see

my vision is blurry
but I am fully real.

You've lived in your parka
since your youth
the deceased

but the freeze is now over
so is disease.

Once you were naked
again you will be

who will you be holding
will you bring peace.

You lived in the forest
till you learned who was king

now remember your brothers
and teach wondering.

mob with the killers

My soul grows old, cause it rolls with the punches, of what its told.

But I don't want to roll no more,

it'll bury me in the trenches.

I'm not old, I'm not old enough no...

I'm naive, though I sleep in the street

I've lost hope, and loads of belief

You ask me how,

how close have I been

I'd say this here,

right here, is the end

and what it looks like.

My soul has been sold, to mob with the killers

I do what I'm bloody told

But I won't be sold no more,

they'll bury me with dozens of strangers

I'm not old, I'm not old enough no...