diary of a dire hare day in march so far.

 oh misery is an old dogwalker on a bike in a blizzard in the 5th month of winter in his 57th year.

today i wish i was angel.

 why can't you just think of it as an adventure stead of a disaster.

 don' worry d.

 sigh. ok. on my way.   sigh.

 ohthankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou.

we may reach 50 inches after all in mad marchness.

...(caesura for the pointers who demand a new entry)...

 the world is a tragic enterprise, as well as a sentimental museum, and a chambered hive of art and wonders.

it has not always been like this. 
the ground we stand on did not exist.
it isn't native to this place.
this place of natives
where all the natives are gone.

gone? but i see them. 
i see them in the snow. they're dancing.
it's not snowing, it's the natives dancing.

all that goes is still here, 
still going.

funny how we can grant ourselves these little reprieves 
in the tragedy, and in these windows 
see the tragedy a little differently.

brighter now. gone from gray to white, the snowflakes diminished in size, in pinkish yellow light, dusting upward.

oh, thank heaven, i bought some biding time.

in the dabbling securing of evidence
we get the sense these cognitions
are as much recognitions as ignitions.

where we come from we will go.

since we are material, are containers of sentiment,
we feel a fellow feeling with other sentimental objects, 
imagining our selves contained within.

is not all without within.

in the blizzard end lay the sense of spring.

now the gulls are flying and the radiators singing and i in bed between.

now you're talking. that's my doug. sweet boy.

oh god it's so nice to have a morning off thank you.

(to be continued.)