and I look and think – I have not been so lazy but distracted by depression and various ideations which has led to some poetry and other rambling thoughts. This year has been a low of the past several where I have had little published and little written – even a rejection of what may be my best poem – alas! am I not a poet? am I only pretending? Is this ultramarine coloring my beard all in vain? no, I forget how subjective this field is and the whims and moods of a reader are as important as the whims and moods of the writer – or nearly so.
I hold no grudge.
I write anyway.
I am compelled by the narrator. the genius in the corner. the voice of the winds. or it could be the mania.
I prefer an easterly sun
I prefer an easterly sun before I go to bed.
I prefer a smashed finger before a project is finished.
I prefer coffee hot.
I prefer sex sweaty.
I prefer a major fourth under a sharp sixth.
I prefer to lie on my back in the gutter, looking out to the stars.
Cassiopeia
Ophiuchus
Ursa minor
these are things of dreams and sailor visions
– Hoc Scripsi
the platitudes of willful resemblance 
say something