i'm reading The Golden Spruce and thinking of The Golden Pavilion though it's not quite the same, but emotionally similar. as i read i come across the line about the loggers resignation, if i don't do it, somebody else will. and i hear the song of dr. john, such a night, and i think this is what's so wrong, everybody singing that old song, and the status quo nightmare hums along. and the golden spruce is a wondrous image that remains in a sea of clear-cut depredation. and all we're supposed to see is that shining anomaly, and the thin screen of trees along the highway.

close up for pat. pat's going to paint mister for me. thanks pat.  

cloud nose.

mister brings beaver log.

something happened, or the curious dog.

lavender wreck

expecially you, dog.

our friend from the 17th floor who sees copp in his window. 

waterwindow heart

ohh yeahh

i saw the lady who lived under the metra tracks who was taken to hospital last winter during the polar vortex. there were candles and flowers in her place and folks thought she was gone, but she's back, on the other side of the street, with hair and slim slacks and warm smile.