My days will change. And I will be on the Road. And these pig devil monster publishers WILL print my work. Frankly, I don’t care if I’m hired FT as a teacher. I want to travel with page.. write for magazines, papers, various publications.. my own books, collections. What I’m going to do: type a poem on my phone, email it to Self, then send it electronically to lit mags, from the computer in the res’ room [thank the Craft I’m not in there, today]. Now a garbage truck passes… So fascinating, all the professions that exist, what people do for a living, and how they change paths, these characters. Lila, quitting the bars, and school [unfortunately or fortunately], to fly, be a flight attendant. She drove onward with her aim, and I can only commend and envy her, from far.
Sipping the mocha carefully now, with its lid removed. It was dripping. That happens every now and then.. so frustrating. But I’ll keep sipping, get into my morning verse. So I have to budget time as I do my publishing funds, and hopefully a little better. 9:05: I leave this journal for a phone, poetry. Typing poetry on a laptop’s horrendous enough, but into a phone is a sick level of lunacy that should be studied.
I’d give anything to go back under my sheets, home.. could I give them an excuse, something like “I’m not feeling well.” Or, “I need to go home, I think I’m getting sick.” Just something I’m thinking about. But then the other side of– A DEER! Just at left, a youthful buck, then doe.. then another.. they carefully foot into the bushes, plants, vanishing from my pagination. They follow each other down a trail. Gone. So free, just enjoying the morning tastes that are airborne, and the freedom the dirt paths provide, and each other’s company.