MaverickMagazine

MaverickMagazine 15/16




Balloonatics over the Playa...

Pilar Woodman is a photographer based in San Francisco. Of the image, she says: This was my first ballon ride over the Playa in 2006. Many thanks to Jeff Haliczer and the beauty of volunteering, and great luck! The second ride was the morning of the burn, untethered, from way outer playa, up and over the City, to about ...7 o'clock on the outer ring. we were part of what had to be one of the slowest speed chases ever. Jeff had tried to get everything approved, but after too much rigamarole, just flew his balloon, and we had the brc rangers, the blm rangers, and the Nevada state police following us for the 30 or so minutes we were in the air. Hahaha, awesome.

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    The hills can tell

    by how flat your eyes are

    how near a thing has become.

    Dogs and wolves share a denning instinct.

    To dig down.

    The straw is a calendar.

    Beatific, shock-white frost

    jagged around the edge of the leaf.  Moon,

    your daughter is the tip of my tongue.

    But in the moonlight

    she has not been heard.

    On the bus, we catch each other to the point of acknowledgment

    then turn away.

    One man waits with an unlit cigarette on his lip.

    The soft side of his wrist tattooed

    with an ideogram. Silver links of his watchband

    after Juan Ramón Jiménez
     

    Shout for joy!

    Shout for joy! But do not

    wake the other dead, our friends

    the shore ruffles.      The hem of a slip

    the sleeper 

    is pulled out into the middle of his most beautiful dream. 

    A butterfly

    darkens. Lowers itself from the massive white cloud

    migrating north toward the Sahara.

    The desert is moving south.

    Tin Pan Alley

    In memoriam: My Grandpa's Uncle.

    Dylan

    I guess he was named after Bob Dylan
    or at least that’s what he told me,

    July 31, 2006

    The frightening day I was taken to the hospital and subsequently diagnosed with bipolar disorder

    No Wonder Horace

    “For Three years out of key with his time”

    There was a time I thought that a poem could
    Be done & not abandoned, finished not
    Just left inside a file cabinet
    Like an old tax return, the debt
    Outstanding, lingering, a time I thought
    By other than some arbitrary date

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