Author Archives: jonwolston

Silvery cloud banks                                                                                                                                   steal in from the north at dusk,                                                                                                              eating blue mountains.                                                                                                                            Only the tree line remains—                                                                                                                   across the lake, wavering.

What have I got against wisterias,                                                                                                         hacking away at them                                                                                                                              as they curl around the corner                                                                                                            find the downspout                                                                                                                                and ascend skyward,                                                                                                                                leaving brown curlicues                                                                                                                           to dangle from the shutters                                                                                                                     when the leaves fall                                                                                                                                  and snow collects my mind?

Vultures! Come on down! Sun-struck, thirsty, I survey the purple mesa. Peck my tender hard-on first! Quivering maidens turn your heads!

Swiftly I shrivel…                                                                                                                                      an anthill towers over                                                                                                                              my wretched shanty.

On Welch Island my                                                                                                                                 dad and Uncle Gordon                                                                                                                             used to move rocks with a crowbar,                                                                                                      sweating like white bulls. Mom and Aunt Jane                                                                                                                          would smoke and fret … Continue reading →

Is this a lull in my life? Why is it that lulls are so suspect? Why isn’t lullology an occupation? You’re pre-law, I’m pre-lull. Is it that lulls don’t last? But life doesn’t last either, physical life that is. Maybe … Continue reading →

Just how deep will my knuckles                                                                     … Continue reading →

Is the Statue of Liberty a person of size? Aren’t we all of us symbols of Boston Cream pies? My girlfriend Cheryl is as big as a house. She sat on me Thursday said I was a louse. All that’s … Continue reading →

Even before I know she’s playing Beethoven I’m quick to notice how it all sounds best open-eyed. Better to watch her shiny black high heels cavort on their tiny stilts, guested by time and the cadences of God.

The joys of the four of us,                                                                                                                        of running barefoot up                                                                                                                             our smooth deserted street                                                                                                                     one cool morning in high summer                                                                                                        under the towering green trees                                                                                                              the city hums below us,                                                                                                                       of to this day                                                                                                                                              coming back to … Continue reading →