march 29

we were young 

the wilderness was calling 

ice broke up on the river 

startling the eyes the stars 

the skies       

#katyamills

mount shasta

like another world
we had been waiting for
you appeared

elusive

snow-capped hiding

behind clouds

dreamy

closer and closer

we became

#katyamills

wild who we are

dally into dream. wild who we are

We began by recalling the sea. which was not hard to do, for the sea faithfully came back from far places with green bottles and messages inside, wrapped in the trendiest of weeds. the sea happily let us believe, then to lull us asleep to the tune of the tides. i dallied into a dream i had when i was younger, back then a stronger version of itself. i recalled it sadly now for now it could not capture me like those days back after a war, before a war. sadly like a strong figure, man or woman, who meant something to me looking up, looking up to as a child. or some strong oak tree now dying, now slowly. now drawn up in my drifting mind, as i intend to open my eyes unblinking upon it, as though i may recall it so well it’s not called recalling. where my memory ends it begins. the path made purely of small sea shells, both of my hands they were held. sweet talk of summer evenings and what ever to do. sounds and warm light spilling out of small houses. side by side. rolling granny applecores away beyond which wild flowers nobody need bother. leaving orange peels for a trail… wild is how i remember us then, and here, the foot of snail and sand, where our memories began.

untitled. not the news

Took a crescent wrench to the mind

a mechanical problem surfaced

those dead all came alive by my side

we dreamed of my arrival

faucet drips and flouride cleans the porcelain

the news it turns me inside out

gone to watch the birds without eyes

just to listen

just to be still and breathe

Oddity #8

A sea cucumber crawled out of the salad, in the middle of the night, caught a cab back to the sea. Haunted by nightmares of sliced tomatoes.

The cab driver got paid in croutons. The service station demanded cash for gas. He waited, in a hopeless state, finely seasoned with garlic and herb.

Someone drove up in a hybrid electric. They stepped out before him. The sunlight was clearly absorbed by their personal microfibre solar paneling. Purchased at REI for some exorbitant amount.

He could see and almost was moved by their aural pre-eminence. Still, he had not forgotten the sun, with whom he shared a deep m-path.

The sun was never paid for its efforts, either. And the sun never complained, neither.

The inroads mazed and became single track, breaded, unleaded, in a dirt road so dirty in the woods there were wooden signs painted and tacked to trees pleading “please drive slow! no wake! save our road”. So dirt clean the nature of it all.

This was the one. He and the sun had traveled long and far to the extra wonderful place of great and even renewal.

They saw and they knew. The sky turned red, from blue. He followed then into the lesser known.

Autumn was

What was this world where when autumn arrived…

How they harvested, by hand.
How they jammed the jam.
How they hunted the land.

Made wind chimes of bone.
Tapped trees for sugars.
Thanked the almighty.
Venison, quail, turkey and trout.

Facing the winter with faith and tobacco. Exposed to the elements.

Cooking the fats over a crackling fire, on irons they traded for pelts.
Chanting at sunset and dancing til dawn. Large fires contained within circles of rock.

Living a life ruled by water wind fire earth sun ice stars and great sacred spaces cast under moonlight ruled by the rhythms as of yet undisturbed and of wonders unknown.

on the King fire

sixty miles
west of the King fire
achy bones
in my King bed
all alone

California dreamin on
clouds of burnin trees
above horizon

ima princess
ima ember
an x junkie
arisen from the
dead

encounter #1 in the woods

i touched her
she burned me
i didn’t even know

i met her
dark
darkness
deep
deep in the
woods

she wept as i
slept
weep
weeping
4 days

i bathed and i
killed her

oak
poisonous
ways

color it. wild

Burrs in my shoelaces
Pollen in my hair
I saw a great blue heron
By the river there

I moved toward
In wonder

He unfolded
his wings
And flew

Chalky
Color
Kinda
WILD!

Shade a saturation
touch up from the
sky

(Tremendous wingspan
Too)

In our cyberfrenzied age
Thank the merciful gods!
The heron

Still great
Still blue

Prayin to god on a curb

praying to god on a curb http://www.katyamills.com/2014/03/praying-to-god-on-curb.html