A day of encompassing poetry.  No prose, as promised.  Only now can I let Self swim in sentence.  Back to work, come morrow, in Alexander Valley.  I was told we may visit some gifted library bottles, from another winery.  But we’ll see, and I’m entirely excited even at the prospect of palate contact with the bottle questioned.  Rain may be returning later in eve, which would be wonderful for finishing the spoken word song I started writing this morning; Think I only have 12 lines to go.  Wrote the chorus this afternoon.  Not posting this to blog.  It’s music, song.  Want it to be real writing, on a page, like wine in its bottle.  Tangible, not virtual.  May write more in bed, start a new poem project.  All day, had rhymes, meter floating in my vision.  Dominated by musical writing, words.  Not my day–it belonged to poetry.  I was steered by meter, verse.  Felt sensational, to be dominated by song, my songs, a song I’m writing.

Highlight of the day had to be when little Kerouac woke this morning.  Never seen him laugh and smile with such frequency, force.  Would have finished my song if I hadn’t heard him cooing, sounding for his father.  Little Jack controls all aspects of this author.  Thinking that when I do finally get whoso cellars airborne, I want to name a project after him, one I do year to year.  And speaking of winemaking dreams, realities: Mom, during her visit with grandma today (a Kerouac visit), told me that Professor Katie said to tell me to be patient with our project.  All we can do right now is wait, which is precisely the struggle with this instantaneous writer, when it comes to a winemaking life.  Wait?  How do I do that?  I want to taste, especially now that ML is done.

Tonight’s nightcap, completely rare for me.  A Snickers and a chilled glass of milk.  No wine tonight.  First, no bottles were open, wasn’t in the mood to pop anything from the small salvo I have.  And, I wasn’t of mood nor mind for wine.  And when I say “wine,” I mean beer as well.  I plan to be up late, even though I’m due at AV Winery’s estate in a morrow’s morrow.  Want to get a couple more standalone’s written.  They’ll be shorter, obviously, than the one I began this morning, which brings 3 verses and a short chorus.  Want to read to crowds.  Want to perform, sings, interact; hear cheers, screams.  Artistry, life for me…

About to read through the current issue of Rolling Stone.  Springsteen on cover.  Rockstar poet, me.  A wanna-be, I see.  But one day.  Want arenas overflowing…  Think I hear rain, drops in the drain, or gutter on the wall’s other side.  Approaching word limit.  Just fantasizing tonight.  Tour dates.  Onlookers singing along.  Soundchecks.  Wine in my hotel Room, writing in a rime log.  Much of such verse won’t be on any ridiculous blog.  Too artful for wine’s road.

[3/30/12, Friday]