Monday, November 21, 2011


I love the mountains
but it is the land of hills, and
crookedy ridges, that i now dwell in
all chop! Chop! Chop!

mountains are the gateway
to the stars becoming attainable,
a proper sledding hill
for the midnight moon
to play upon

you can ponder big in the mountains
becoming small while your vision expands.
it is here, the elk, majestic and lean
snort the frozen air, giving it new life

in the hills called mountains
a bear will steal your lunch
but in the grandfather mountains
the bear will make you its supper

men here will die, must and have died
will die-good men full of jerky
blood and muscle

in the eastern hills
men full of Brussels sprouts
and bottled water
will get ticks and catch cold

i speak not against these eastern hills
but i mock their claim to be mountains
Superior can never be an ocean
and makes no such boast
it is enough to be the grandest lake

if the Rockies could grow legs
they'd put on their scuffed
torn, unlaced work boots,
step over the Mississippi
and kick the appalachians ass
just to teach them
what a true mountain really is

(i make no apologies for this post)