All time I a quicker quick

no trip only run

can’t afford any tangled–

morning walk with roosters and

whatever else– feeling the hangover

running away like parking ticket gifters

and their receives …

the AM  and the mosquitos disrupting 

any calm, and any chance of finishing

this note, not so much a poem not at all

no

I’m in one of those moods where I don’t

want the day to open,

I just want the woodpecker to talk to

me or keep with that beat as I try to write.

Imagine an hour of quiet here on this

vineyard, and a full

FULL

unfettered hour, but it won’t, the day

don’t have that written for this journalhugger–

Bees, the chirps, the destiny of a March

Morning.. And what what domino lab 

Am I in? Oh and another

question

or comment:

Days off, I get one, right?

Another buzz in ear I

get up from chair porch

Moving walking

to parking lot and vineyard past, talking to myself like

idealists do–

And death, death won’t

Bother me like these goddamnd

Mosquitos — notifikeepwriting–

Water, pond brook or

whatever,

new song and morning of

Coffee–

And that’s it.

No wore wine.

Or IPA–  just a scuttle to

another word set and don’t edit–

The water doesn’t take back the

last ten seconds of stream– the buzzes

don’t rewind or redo–  and so me2.

Stare at my parked car and hope a bird shows me what to write next

or do

And I do

Deny death its manuscript, refuse

to publish it.

No.  And on the grass shadows pitch an idea–

Car.

Visitor.

Time to work.

Shit.

But no a 

coworker coming in on

Day off to buy some wine.

Good for him I think

but when quiet comes back I have

To listen to the morning’s tempo and

chords.

Song new and study–

And wait I don’t

Want the poem to

End I sing the rest back at the

wings, that one with the red suggestion

In the left wing– I mean right

Right I’m not right I left my

sensibility at home I left

in a rush

No rush this morning–

And the mallets and trumpets, sax

Brushes and hats, I tap but slow down–

I just stop stop with anything that could slow m–

Another bite

Back of neck, left, to match the one

on the inside of my wrist, right.

The obvious thoughts just become like

added sugar in coffee, not needed.

Just keep as is,

As I is and will be.  Wings left, I don’t look just listen.

That’s better, study, student, outside,

no box no jail no room.  This is a room,

My room for now in this now

moment molding needling music in everything.. I don’t need to

work just

Write and charm the scenes additives to

continue their hospitality and

generosity.  Folded.

Think that’s a robin..

Think that’s a .. What…..

Bluejay?

Delay.. Think.. No test remember, it’s not 

that form of classroom.

Wings again.. Crow… New songs competing.

Set pen down.

Just invite the whats and notes.. All

assimilated for instruction,

or maybe it’s just life.

Death expelled

(3/29/15)