Analog loops, guitars, feedback and poetry about impossible alleys, 8 seat bars, villages with book shops, woolen scarves, Fado, Kathmandu mud, and umbrellas thwarting tactility.
Made by “Thorvald and Thurston” in a Provo basement, 2018
Tag Archives: poems
Collection: Journals (variety), vol. 3
Explaining the obvious: I fill notebooks/journals of poetry, notes and musings (as well as scrapjournals which contain paper ephemera) and then transcribe (which no editing), then stash them into old-timey suitcase, which usually live in a storage locker faraway from where i physically exist.
I snap lil snaps of the covers before their hibernation to remind myself of these tomes which in turn remind me of where i was when the words were scribbled.
To prevent the snaps from vanishing into a folder (digital shoebox as it were), compilations ensue -placed into the this archive for my reference, and for you to peek at if you have a notion.
Nowhere to Call – Items: Forgotten in Drawers (vol. 4)
Pistachios for Bedouins – Items: Forgotten in Drawers (vol. 4)
Sunday on the Lam – Items: Forgotten in Drawers (vol. 3)
Riparian Edges – Items: Forgotten in Drawers (vol. 3)
Locust in Sweetgrass – Items: Forgotten in Drawers (vol. 3)
Stuck Around – Items: Forgotten in Drawers (vol. 3)
San Francisco Afternoon
Waiting thirteen minutes
for a 2nd rate beer
a Sunday afternoon
In the empty bar
the one with the pretentious name
trying to be too smooth
but i’ll submit to comfort
low-slung leather lounge
glass table top reflection
C:
the menu has martinis
but i am drinking beer
this menu lists tapas
but i am nowhere near
not eating, just drinking
and thinking
somewhere far away from here
thinking on a San Francisco afternoon
finding her walk-up
brick and stone tiny room
redwood walls and Chinese food
somewhere near
the Embarcadero
waiting for red-headed Tina
who i ran from years before
leaving in a hurry
and coming on too soon
admitting that in retrospect
you meant more than i let on
so i continue
waiting vacantly
sipping slowly
and sitting low
the menu has martinis
but i am drinking beer
this menu is listing tapas
but i am nowhere near
hardly can guess where i’m strolling
suppose i am going home
a lost afternoon for me
belatedly exchanged for
the broken heart
i maybe gave you
like that foreign film
where the subtitles might say
i’m erred on a cloudy day
by the well near the olive hill
but really now
if you happened by
i just want an afternoon
of coffee, weed and your tangled sheets
like times before i ventured
drifting literal oceans away
unsure if you even remember
Salt Lake night in the Avenues
climbing oaks and sneaking into
that mansion that’s for sale forever
drinking port wine in the broken attic
or maybe you noticed me out here
peeking through a curtain
hoping to stumble like a coincidence
holding crocuses like missed conceptions
and faltered connections
the menu has martinis
but i am drinking beer
this menu is listing tapas
but i am nowhere near
i am gone elsewhere
somewhere far from you
and here
Spark’d – Items: Forgotten in Drawers (vol. 3)
