proteanme

Sooo . . . I put the word “emoticons” in a poem. I think I’ve definitely ensured that the piece is not going into some special poetry time capsule. Unless it’s my own special poetry time capsule. I  kind of wish I was the kind of person who would make time capsules. But it sounds so Wes Anderson and I am not a “Wes” kind of guy.

This is me practicing “writing” and /or me trying to bring you with me on my commute into work: Riding in to work at dawn I look up as I pedal over the Hawthorne bridge because I want to see how the tall glass buildings downtown shine in the half light of morning. I feel like I’m riding into a photograph. I notice fog is hanging over the west hills and I think about how OHSU looks like some modern midievil fortress when its surrounded by the mist.  I cross the river and head south to the the tram. I am riding fast, for no reason, except I like how good it feels to make my legs ache just the smallest bit. On a straight stretch of road without any traffic I turn to look east where the sun is coming up. I don’t expect the pink and orange I see at the edge of the sky, just above the mountains and under the ripple of clouds. I say a secret “wow” to myself.