Road Kill
Matt Beard
Split the Difference
On that day we harnessed
History’s joyous
Laughter
But there was nobody
Around to hear it
So instead we
Split
The difference
California Storm
We came to this mountain in search of gold
We’ll leave with pockets full of solitude
We speak to the wind
We are here now
Everything else is gone
The cars and houses
The monies and the media
The interconnected web of information that
Ties us all together
None of that can truly exist at all
We know because we’ve listened to the quiet
That raged so loud our ears bled
We know because we’ve stood on the edge
And peered over
And seen everything we ever held on to
Smashed against the rocks
And washed away
Only to be returned as the treasures of
Small children on the outgoing tide
Dream on, dreamer, but when you awake
You’ll find nothing here
And that will be all that you need
Ok, bring your own beer if you like
Just don’t forget to pack out the empty bottles
When you leave
A Break in the Rain
All the while the day grows darker
And nothing dry is left.
The eternal endurance of water has won,
And now even what’s wrong is right.
You can see it, but you cannot understand it
Nothing more can be done
But surrender beneath the weight of it all
And be
Washed Away
This is what it is to be human
Approaching Storm
Wishing for another moment
To capture
The
Inconvenient gaze
Of a child’s
Bright
And silent future
Before they come
To haul it all away
Restricted Access
We never did imagine
The golden
Acceleration
Of our free fall
Would yield…
Such high rent
For apartments so small
And
So many left turns
And
No rights at all
Mid-Morning
If you spend any time at all in this town, do yourself a favor and find a different mode of transportation than a rusty old van. Parking is nuts to non-existent and navigating the unfamiliar streets in a vehicle that can’t hop curbs, cut over embankments and weave through crowds of pedestrians really hinders one’s getting around here. A bike however, opens the world. A borrowed bike with a friend or two to follow around is even better. They’ll know all the fun zigs and zags.
I recall this morning clearly, even though it was quite a few years ago. My old college roommate was living in town here and had the day off work when I rolled through so we
grabbed the bikes and hit the trails, roads, paths, walkways, dirt hills, etc., on the way across town for morning surf checks and coffee accumulations. This was before the age of cell phone cameras, so I brought a camera with me in case anything caught my eye. The borrowed bike I rode was a bit unruly for one-handed use on the crowded bike path that follows the shore here, so once we procured the coffee and rode on, things got difficult. I’d managed to get this far without incident, but no further. Fortunately the landing was soft, the camera intact, and somehow, against all odds the coffee remained unspilled. After brushing off and taking inventory I snapped a photo, and later painted this.
New Year’s Day
Beckoning
Each passing storm
Brings a clearing
Of mind
Revealing
Spiral rhythms
Of color
In your eyes
Both fragile
And totally free
No Fires
The higher laws do not forbid
The burning of your gasoline dreams
No
They practically command it
We’d driven all over the state, the miles passing like a rushing river in a sudden spring rain. It wouldn’t do really, us being together, that is. She was from a different world than I was, far too refined to spend any sort of life with me. Even her car was the sort that would start up every time, a Toyota Tercel that would look at home in any dealership’s
used car lot. Made me a bit uncomfortable, really. I came from a long line of Volkswagons (believe it or not, they weren’t always worth so much), old American vans, unclassic relics from someone else’s childhood.
On this cross-state road trip, we drove her car.
No hotels, no campgrounds, just a soft shoulder on the edge of the sea with a construction site dirt berm for privacy, and a big blue tarp to envelope our time on the side of the road. There had to be at least two dozen rules against our unplanned happenstance there, but neither she nor I stopped to read the signs.
Though we did not break the rule you’re thinking of, we did awake to a different look in each other’s eyes, and the fire was still burning that morning, suspended in a soft falling mist as we drove on.
-Entry on August 5, 2011
The Arrival
Mack
Fading Light
California
Denied
Unsolitary Confinement
A Symmetrical Moment
Black on Black
Shoebox Series X
First Look
I’ve been told lately
That I didn’t paint this one quite right
Or it must be somewhere else
That our local jetty doesn’t look like this
That it’s all busted up
And full of holes
Where the ocean pours in
And leaves salt in every wound
But I painted this a long time ago
From photos and memories
Made even earlier
We never had 4 wheel drives
And the sand road wasn’t so well packed yet
So we walked along the edge of the seawall
Unbroken
From the carpark to the rusted chain
Our first view
Was this
Looking at it now
It’s easy to forget
That there was a time
A time and half a time before
When the path that we walked
Wasn’t falling apart
And once in awhile
A painting like this
Let’s us stop
And remember
House of Prayer
These trembling walls dance
With their Maker’s invisible spirit
As we wage war on tomorrow’s past
Victory was better an hour ago
And defeat is a low-tide
Rising
The Low Road
Above and Below
One world above
And another below
It might be heaven up there
But
Down here
We live in our vans
Skippin’ Work
Lined Up
On the morning I was created⠀
I crawled out the back of the old yellow van⠀
Wide-eyed and blinking⠀
Wondering where my brother had ran?⠀
He ran to the sea⠀
He ran for his life⠀
Past the razor’s edge of the earth⠀
Into the mist where the horizon is long⠀
Where the black dots line up and wait⠀
Is that really where my brother had gone?⠀
He ran to the sea⠀
He ran for his life⠀
I unearth sandwiches buried in sand⠀
Sealed plastic baggies with PB and J’s⠀
Perfect gifts from Mother Earth⠀
So why did my brother rush into the haze?⠀
He ran to the sea⠀
He ran for his life⠀
Looking around I see girls on the move⠀
Their bikinis and bodies these young eyes amazed⠀
What were we talking about?⠀
And how did my brother get past them unfazed?⠀
He ran to the sea⠀
He ran for his life⠀
He told me to join him before he ran off⠀
I was unsure of myself and scared⠀
Of the ocean and its blackened depths⠀
What made my brother think I would dare?⠀
To run to the sea⠀
To run for my life⠀
To follow him out and beyond⠀
To the great sea where its rhythms unfurled⠀
To leave the logic of land for the great “into-ocean”⠀
But he was my brother and did he not rule the world?⠀
So I ran to the sea ⠀
And I ran for my life⠀
Bewildered by movements unknown⠀
I tried and I tried and I tried and I tried⠀
I couldn’t get past these white rolling waters⠀
“Where are you, brother” I cried⠀
Scratching the sea⠀
And scratching for life⠀
“Turn and go” was all that I heard⠀
So I turned and I goed with all that I could ⠀
That little white wave pushed me along⠀
And my brother watched as I stood⠀
On the sea⠀
And on my life⠀
I had never felt so alive⠀
As when the white foam gave way⠀
To smooth water before it⠀
I was made a brother that day⠀
We ran to the sea⠀
We ran for our lives⠀
And to this day we still run⠀
But I’ll always remember just how elated⠀
I was to join my brother ⠀
Back on that morning when I was created⠀