Get in and ride.
Take the fork. Bend the spoon.
Let the roads expand perception and create our path.
Ignore the compass. Follow the shapeshifting clouds.
Climb the gravelly hill. Roll and brake down the sandy slope. Gas it through the water hole.
Let’s open the moonroof and the windows. Let the lake, earth and forest whirl up all around us, and let’s breathe it—deeply—over and over again.
The miles and miles of hope.
~ KJ
Fat and sugar,
salt and caffeine
lift me
when they hit
the bloodstream.
So, I make
Sunday breakfast
for family.
Eat sausage while it cooks.
Sip fresh ground blonde roast.
Listen to Holiday Classics
and my son,
as he tells my wife
about his late-night
spent
eating burgers, broccoli,
chili, rice,
and chips.
watching college football
with weightlifting friends.
The dogs rumble,
Wrestle at my feet,
then run
room to room,
humping hard.
It’s a contest,
I guess.
Establishing dominance.
I salt and pepper the eggs,
turn them,
start the toast,
and my daughter
thump,
thump,
thumps,
down the stairs.
Rhino,
the fat, gray cat
walks through,
paying no mind to us.
He meows, meows, meows
as his belly sways and
dusts the hardwood floor.
With a great leap,
he is on the table,
waiting
for nobody
to feed him.
~ K.J.
Grinding coffee
on the porch
as the dog
does her business.
I don’t want
to stir my wife or kids.
They need sleep.
The wood underfoot is so cold
my feet burn.
But it feels good
to be
outside
on another Alpena April
morning.
And now, inside,
I sip warm liquid
and get to work,
the keys clicking,
the dog snoring,
the birds waking the world
with song.
~ K.J.
The Crooked Steeple 