Jackie, still coughing, but not as much. But after his 2+ hour sleep, he’s revived in a way I could only hope to be after resting, or even seven-plus hours for me. Just back from getting second mocha.
Edited and printed a poem for chapbook. Due before summer session.. due before summer session… What I keep telling mySelf. It’ll happen, though. That’ll be my birthday present to my Self.
Music.. all I hear is jazz. And like Kerouac.. I roll to be a jazz poet.. every line unorthodox, and all rime timed. Dad asked me last night, “In a perfect world, would you rather be a writer or a teacher?” I answered, “Writer.” That would make my world “perfect”, I guess. But if it were perfect I’d cease in being a Beat, right? We thrive on the awkwardness of Life and its channels, crashes.