Santa Fe Poetry

As many people have pointed out, I've been slacking on my blogging chores. Honestly, about 50% of my audience has been clamoring for a new post. (Well, it's really only my mom and Jesse.) Of course, statistics are a wonderful thing, and can deliver facts under some seriously false pretenses. Let's stick with the 50% threshold and just go from there.

How about a poem, for a change?
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There's a breeze in the summer
right when you need to feel its touch.
Spring springs just as winter seems most interminable.

I hand myself banal platitudes
when the water is farthest from the bridge.

These little spells pull dew from clouds up valley.
And the live body-toss refreshes, instead of destroys.

And then the only remaining advice I must give myself:
Trust in Jesus, but excommunicate the Deities,
and drink deep from the distilled patience.
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Some further random introspection/retrospection/perspection-in-general:

Santa Fe is beautiful, especially for only 2 days and after consistent rain. New Mexican drivers are still the worst I've seen this side of Portugal.

Sarah Palin 2012 bumper stickers initially make me hopeless. Then I come back to my senses, and thank those Republicans for their most generous would-be gift.

Spending time with some of my family reminds me that I love them all, even if we don't see/talk/interact with each other as much as I'd like. I miss the ones I haven't seen in a while.

I'd like to congratulate Jesse Sapir, yes, that same Jesse who chides me for slacking on my published words, for sending In Your Face out in Rifle. Jesse, you kick ass. And I'd also like to congratulate my mother for saying the words "sending your route" with erudite understanding as I explained rock climbing's goal to my aunt. See what happens when you become invested in Abaluba, voyeurs? You get a personal mention.
Happy August.