So if I don’t write something here soon the blog might wither and die like so many flowers and friendships.
Today I couldn’t bring myself from the cozy of bedroom into the heat of the day until noon… I’ve redacted the part about my dreaming of…. and lets just say it was worth staying in bed for.
I’ve been working on poetry and while nothing has really come of it yet – I am still working on it. There are two long poems which elude me and a shorter one which is simply not progressing the way it ought.
So I am sitting outside, away from my typewriter, sweating and drinking hot coffee – smoking cigarettes and waiting for the squirrels to be entertaining. Natures clown troupe #2243.
the plane overhead does not know I am trying to listen to Allen Ginsberg
but I am cursing it anyway
Too hot to ride my motorcycle today and nowhere to ride to. It isn’t Texas hot but mid-west hot and no rain in the forecast.
Too hot to sit outside (where I am) and contemplate the meaning of withering flowers.
This is golden fleeced loveliness.
the platitudes of willful resemblance 