Arschloch

The Wages of Sin is Death

Pepper Mountain

Outside on a break -- where Lewis and Clark and their companions careened, salmon musk, incense of bark, rain illuminating the Columbia Slough. Right down there they traveled, "we call this rockey island the Sepulchar," Clark-twinned doppelganger akimbo. Stanley Park -- in memory, I heard the golf carts funereal fractal to mussel stickers, pulsing to droning thunderbird pinions, one instant

by Aldebaran. I apprehended then you can see the mountains from the cedars of British Columbia, Tsath of the West End, hovering ridges of polished snow, footprints of Sherrard Point and Mt. Wyeast. "Correlating the

mental contents," a paraphrase from memory --

Brain track of a .22 slice bullet, cadaver scalp, pinned in the Police Museum. And father, his property gone to the Voyniches and Yetis, a saddle tormenting over the horizon,

forest harvested from the clay.

JF

8:27 PM 1/22/2011

John Callahan

From Oddities 7: Panels by Roman Scott, the late John Callahan, an image from Bergman's Sawdust and Tinsel, and other things. I saw Callahan sitting or wheeling his way on the bricks and slabs of downtown Portland a number of times, and I (along with two friends) once had an opportunity to visit him in his apartment.