accidents with large metal things

...generally don't turn out well. "how did you manage to do that?" is usually the first response. i've tired of the answer, given too many times -- i hit myself with a car. my knee may never be the same. i played a gig i wasn't scheduled to an hour and some time later.

"i hope you can still play good. our friends are here," my mother says. i'm on my second margarita.

"so really, how did you manage to do that?" i hear you want to ask.

i have two chows, one black, one white, i call them my tao dogs. the black one's hair was six, eight inches plus, it was 100 degrees in may, and i had him shaved. bald. i was stunned.

i pulled into the drive, it slants at a good angle towards the house, i forgot to put the car in park, engaged the emergency brake, and as most emergency brakes are wont to do, it failed. in the meantime i had opened the garage door, noticed a hornet on a hornet's nest, and moved up a foot or so to examine the hornet. when i felt something brush against my knee, i brushed back; it was after all unusually hot and buggy, even for here. turns out it was the car: i remember my body curved like a comma, i remember the dog motionless, staring. "uh, now we going in the car. uh, now we hitting the mama." i remember little else.

actually i remember playing, standing and playing. mypace has a picture of it, a pretty good picture in fact. i remember crawling into bed and the agonizing pain of a strained groin and a strained medial collateral ligament. i remember calling my mother and asking if i should go to the emergency room. "no, it didn't seem to be that bad." endorphins are the wonder drug. she dreamed that night of my pain, and called to check on me the next day.

i don't remember jumping into the car and stopping it before it (a) rolled over me or (b) rolled into the hot water heater. i saw the hand print in car dust, two days later, coming out of the doctor's office in the bright, hot sun. i don't remember swinging around to grab the car and jumping out of the way, though at times i almost can. these are known unknowns. they matter none. i may remember my fut hitting the brak, could be a false memory, alin all i managed to go with life with less vicodin than one might imagine.

now i deal with pain in my knee, off and on. i can tell when rain is on the way, or cold rain is lurking. if i overdo it by far, the pain creeps up to my abdomen, appears there is a tendon that attaches there from the knee. if i had taken more than a couple of days to heal, well, i possibly wouldn't be dealing with it -- still -- i feel exceptionally fortunate for the protection around me and the body i was born with.

i often forget to mention: the hornet stung me too.

black is the sole

i will not allow my place of healing to become a place of anger.
le, 10/2/07

you want a wildflower area, great.
you want a cricket field, so be it.
you want paved parking and port-o-lets,
your sole is blacker than i thought.

pink is the harvest moon

moon hung lo


moon hung low
sticky black
sticky black
sticky night
black night


cradle rock slow
cry soft
cry soft
cry rain
soft rain

cricket song hush
cradle rock slow
rain cry soft say
moon hung low



1984 le

passion

to define passion: you go to sleep thinking about it and you wake up thinking about it. but whether you are passionate about what you love or what you fear -- is that the key to the little black box? i wonder if you open it by simply choosing what to think. have i been hearing that for thousands of years? too many question marks, or suffering from overuse?

random acts of violence leave a scar deceptively deep; great kindness is all too rare, small kindness all but extinct. you come to expect what you know best, and it follows. daily i try to emulate what i believe is normal, daily i find i feel normal not at all. it has become my passion, what i have been passionate about, not what i love.

and so here i am, thinking my way into oblivion: wondering at the wisdom of the broken spoke's success and the bravery of monks dying to light the way to liberation.

a slathering maw

"There's nothing I like better than staring down the slathering maw of nature."
--tony bordain from the travel channel

I found myself carefully trying to extract myself from the thorny vine filled woods I generally avoid. Yet one dog had found a critter hole, large enough to be fit only for a racoon, and well protected by the aforementioned thorny vines. He put his head halfway down the hole, stepped back and barked. He would not leave until the critter emerged. And so I find myself in this predicament: creeping under barbed wire fencing left over from the old homestead, fallen cedar branches, poison ivy, intrepid vines, all tearing skin and clothing, to retrieve the obsessed canine. Pulling both dogs, neither of whom seemed impressed with my skills, I crept back through the slathering maw of woods gone wild.

pretty as a ladybird

wild flowers.
conditions were perfect this year.
wildflowers not seen for a decade bled beauty across our lands,
a canvas of brilliance to brighten rain-burdened skies.
perhaps it takes a drought to bring blessings
blooms that break your heart so a smile can escape
tears that speak of beauty uncaptured and wild.
bluebonnets that sing persian blues, cerulean blues, indigos and ultramarines.
lady bird lived to see her passion, a painting that paled monet,
lived to see with her heart, not her eyes,
the most magnificent season anyone recalls.
and then she died.
pretty as a lady bird.
wild flowers.

i thought, then thought better

gurgle, gurgle
i thought most people who know me would like this much better than
myspace, which i have little time to frill and less to frill with
gurgle, gurgle
or something like that

will i tell you, have i told you yet? i'm not comfortable. one day, when i have, well...
gurgle, gurgle
something more....

than these damned mosquito bites. i can't believe they actually made it into the house and onto the bottom of my feet, the single solitary place that is not covered in (gasp, gurgle, gurgle) poison. for the buggers. i also have poison ivy or blister bug bites--what? gurgle, gurgle--or something more....

one day never comes
someday always does
if i could only post multiple audio clips here i think that most people who know me would find this all much more like me.
gurgle, gurgle.
ornot.

inthe junenight

it's a full moon

humid and hot

and i love how you look

in a greying mohawk

no one has to be perfect

for what is the one

but a place in my heart

left slightly undone

it's a fine fickle moon

hiding you and your kind

in demonstrative tones

rising up, not unkind

the voices come calling

come hither, come him

for how can you leap

before you can swim

l. epperson 2007

universal love song

when i think i can't go on
i feel your arms around me
lifting me up, lifting me up
and when i think i'm going down
i feel your love surround me
lifting me up, lifting me up

and i've been looking for a reason
where no reason exists
i've been looking for a reason
where no reason exists
i've been looking for a reason

where no reason exists

copyright 2007

when the rains come

after two years of little rain, it begins. it rains and rains and rains. the flowers are beautiful, the creeks are full, and the trees spread their wings over us all. is it the prayers of everyone who knows my mother? radiation is over and she can eat. she regains weight, and she looks better than she has in at least the past month, possibly better than she has in the past year when she was dealing with back pain. we relax, seeing her blossom, but we do not stop the vigilant watch. cancer tricks you into thinking it has given up its quest to take, only to return with renewed ambition. the prayers continue, and we live under a sacred tree that is spreading over us, as the rains continue to bless.

i feel i've been prepared for this, though the experience pales in comparison. a few years ago my dog was diagnosed with melanoma. it grew large in her mouth before i noticed, it was removed, it was malignant. she did not look sick for another two years. then life dealt me a double blow -- a love left for reasons left unsaid and her cancer returned. i found it early, had the tumor removed again. within a month, it was back, it was agressive, it had invaded the bones in her jaw. the last month of her life i spent with her, at home. you get used to new badness that comes after old badness subsides. she died 3 months later. on the day she died, my other dog -- all of two years -- licked the blood off of her paws, knowing it was the end. the tearful longing still comes at inconvenient times. like now.

this will not happen to my mother, i tell myself this, i tell others this, i believe this. but i know that it could. i am thankful for the sacred tree that covers us with blessed love.

is the cure worse...?

mom looks very sick, i don't think she knows. radiation on a tumor located on her spine, they are afraid it will damage the spinal cord, radiation daily for two weeks takes its toll. eating makes her feel like not eating any more. dad, in a daze, takes over organizing dr. notes, treatments, bills, medicine schedules. i see his concern, but he works hard to hide what he feels. we bring her books on nutrition, we bring her hugs, we bring her prayers. the chemo pill makes her even more nauseous, but how can she tell which is it? radiation, chemo, hormone blocker? she sees a new oncologist, closer to home. i'm afraid chemo would kill her, she doesn't look strong enough. he prescribes meds to help with radiation effects -- sore throat, nausea, fatigue. no more chemo pills. she will take the hormone blocker, perhaps for the rest of her life. we gather for a family portrait, we gather to bring her love, we gather because we are afraid we may not gather again.

one day in the sun

it is the day before dad's birthday, my last day to smoke, and mom is having a mammogram. suspicious, but likely nothing. it was quiet during lunch. a lump, there would be more tests before anyone left. breast cancer. it would be removed, the day is a blur, and i cry driving home. i quit smoking the next day, dad's birthday.

a visit with the surgeon. a blow to the stomach, life swings a bat and sometimes it hits you. the back pain is tumors. it won't be removed. breast cancer. stage IV.

poem for no one

Under a sacred tree sat I, warbling a silly sad song.
Under a cloistered sea swam I, riding the rip tyde home.
Dreaming of delicate days was I, encircled and held all close.
But I woke to a buzz in a brack, breaks inside my head,
Weaving this path alone.