Peace Piece

It’s like meeting Bill Evans in Montana

Liquid Louie’s is a bar that pops out of the woods surprising drivers who pay attention along a lonely highway near Swan Lake Montana. It’s a small sign that can reach out and entice just about the time the driver really needs a good cold drink where people are nice to be around.

A small gravel parking lot leads to an unadorned and unobtrusive cabin that has been added on about twelve times since the turn of the century, each new room seems to fit eclectically but contrarily to the original structure much like a jazz soloist branches out and reaches for more without the safety of underlying melody. The result is both jarring and complimentary and full of memories. People who know about Liquid Louie’s are the soul of this place and that soul is held tight against the walls in still photos of those who visit hanging alongside the photos of regulars who took their last visit with them years ago. A few of the faces from the photos can be recognized sitting at the u shaped bar if you ignore the grey, wrinkles and study their eyes.

Angie is tending today and she asks us what we want.

Sometimes just the simple act of asking Makes all the difference

When you need a piece of peace on the rocks

Montana fills the bill.

News From The Front; abbreviated.

NEWS FROM THE FRONT ABBREVIATED

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Loons

Loons come lonely Together

To peck at a pop can

Wary of the shine

They stare one eyed

Afraid.

 

 

The Reading

Words like swords

Swords like poetry

And poetry like pretentious

half-believed Self-congratulation

Wobble weightless above

Spheres of home

with debts Paid like magic.

Let us drink the false pride away.

No.

People are not dead Like words at a reading.

 

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Dupuyer, Montana

Buy a fishing license from Bill To fish the Blackfeet Reservation.

Giving directions to Dog Gun Lake He spills life at you in coffee cups

Like time sifting down.

Calm.

Exact.

Absolute.

 

 

 

Spring

Made It Through Another Montana Winter with Kathleen

All the writings of Epicurus are lost.

But the empirical hereness of Thelonious Monk

Gives pleasure far beyond the land’s capability To support us.

A Crane stands alone and mute

oblivious to the push and shove of waves.

It waits.

Stabbing beak poised for just that right moment.

The river responds to the Be Bop of rise and fall.

Water lifts us like an imaginary lake

Fed by the melting glaciers of frozen dreams.

Like notes blown clean through Charlie Parker’s sax.

Like precise timing in Monk’s pause,

We recreate happiness every day in the altruistic effort of survival.

 

 

Clouds bring it

Welcome to lichen

Mountain goats find it tasty

like the mountain sips the sea from a cloud straw.

lightening rumbles when it hits Bottom.

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Kids grow up

Things happen to them

and you feel helpless

hoping the skills you gave them

will be enough.

 

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