Guillermo Parra

Saturday night afterglow on the Gulf of Mexico.

I am grieving the barbarism that is going to unfurl from all this. People are going to die. Livelihoods gone. All to feed a corrupt kleptocracy.

I see every day up close how different it is from the first time around. There are no guardrails. A disaster. I’m sorry we have to live through this.

Last night on Stevenson Creek.

Now I’m at chapter 61 of Moby-Dick. I took a 🚲 ride to Old Clearwater Bay tonight. Melville makes you notice the sea more closely.

My rereading of Moby Dick continues. What a vastly entertaining & philosophically profound novel it is, Melville is like a high art soap opera writer, each chapter pulling you into the next.

Gulf of Mexico moonrise on Indian Rocks Beach tonight.

Cambridge Common (poem draft, 4/17/25)

Philip Lamantia (1967/2025)

Good to see you tweeting out here in the astral plane!

In the rail yards on tonight’s ride 🚲

Mourning doves connect me to old memories of hearing them as a kid in the trees in Massachusetts.

Afterglow sentinels

‘The perfect target’: Russia cultivated Trump as asset for 40 years – ex-KGB spy The KGB ‘played the game as if they were immensely impressed by his personality’, Yuri Shvets, a key source for a new book, tells the Guardian

Trump is a Russian asset.

It’s my patriotic duty to denounce traitors like Trump and Musk, who are working for Putin.

The line can sustain itself in the wind-
swept landscape of hills & valleys
where are we on this map?
I followed the route along the wood
Place holders in
Could one be put together
from memory, the Gulf air

Sunday night downtown

Stephen Spender (1933)

A poem by Patricia Guzmán (Caracas, 1960-2025), in my English translation. R.I.P.

a man laying on the floor next to a boombox ALT: a man laying on the floor next to a boombox

Yes

MAGA is a fascist coup d’état.

Bob Frost. In Italian.

Patricia Guzmán (1960-2025)

Saturdays are for the Grateful Dead.

You can see Venus tonight over the Gulf of Mexico, here in Clearwater.

One thing I like about poetry is that it’s absolutely humble.

A coup d’état just happened in Venezuela today. 🇻🇪

Death to Chavismo!

Poem draft

Downtown Sunday night

“The vagabond who’s rapping at your door
Is standing in the clothes that you once wore”