The death of a moon cowboy

I am a somewhat-youth with ideas and thoughts and too many dreams that sometimes overflow as these little dribblings from my fingertips. I guess you can try to collect and capture them.

Sunday, March 22, 2009


We walked in during dawn,
red rays on red walls, some
sliver of ancient creation--
desert then and now.
Until the layers gave way to white,
seething toward the sky like teeth,
fangs, an unforgiving world painted
in contrasts. The determined
juniper and sage sprout, unquestioning,
humble plants with little to offer but life.
Below the peak, in folds of
fragmented sandstone, are small
potholes and tanks. In one,
the pale belly of an inverted
lizard faces up, still--
if not for the dark of the water its
white underside would appear
part of the rock itself.

--- ---

In early March, we hiked in Snow Canyon. Brandon and I scaled white sandstone on the White Rock Trail, up into wind and butterflies and scant water.

I wrote this (like the last one) on the lift at Sundance in my little notebook, then transcribed to typewriter, then to here.

this is the tank where we found the dead lizard
pothole / tank

Friday, March 20, 2009

Above over it

Aspen and spruce shadows juxtaposed over
torn white, crumpled ice and snow
and geometric lines and curves like so many
jetplane contrails converging.
Denuded branches reach upwards desperately,
suckling sunlight,
oblivious of the SLOW signs and
fenceposts and the rushing, arcing onslaught of bodies.

Soaring silent over it all, supported by
massive green steel columns,
I look down and it all
lies there beneath my dangling feet,
blooming, static and stagnant
yet somehow unfolding below, scenes and layers
in the snow;
I hover quietly
and reach the summit.

--- ---

Many snowy days were spent at Sundance this season, and each time I was inspired to draw, write, or just think. I first wrote this on the lift in my small notebook (which Bella got me for Father's Day last year), then transcribed it on my typewriter, then re-transcribed it here.