Reading Paul Muldoon’s Quoof. Poetry makes for encouraging reading in the mornings; the pages pass quickly and I feel I’ve accomplished something before I’ve even finished my tea. Poems make me feel like trying things, they stretch my brain a bit. Sometimes I read a little aloud, stretching my tongue as well. Muldoon provides wonderful mouthfuls of Irishness: his three mooley heifers. It’s all much of a muchness.

I love these lines:

She turns from the sink
potato in hand. A Kerr’s Pink,
its water-dark
port-wine birthmark
that will answer her knife
with a hieroglyph.

I’ve set up a Tumblr for this project and will be cross-posting this work there.

Another photobook page, expanded from this indexical diptych.

Hiking near South Fork Trinity River this afternoon, and found this amazing piece of wood in a pile of debris washed up at a bend in the river. It’s about 5′ long and completely covered in intricate, overlapping bark beetle markings. Click the image above for a larger version.