After a 5-miler in the heat, and now with some cold brew swimming in my circulation like released fish, I’m more than working, more than productive.  Found out that the territory I canvassed isn’t going live for a bit longer than I estimated.  In fact it’s not known.  But the visit wasn’t wasted.  Learning , learned, and contacts made and in sales you NEVER know how that potentially could material down the Road, distant or perfectly proximal.

EOD nears with no regard for me or my tell and interpretation of it.  Canvassing self for new sight and plausible spheres and plains.  Notes on post-its… refusing to stop in my movement, this newest manuscript. Haven’t written any verse in the last few days.  May treat self to a glass of that Albarino, or red blend, and write only verse.  Don’t walk in with my laptop.  People see me as a writer, and as EOD forwards its fangs toward my figure, I simple put more to page and think less.  A poem a day at the very bloody least.  Thinking is the problem.  If I were writing like I need be I wouldn’t notice the goddamn clock.

Three letters, short, before 5.  Have a target…  Got one.  Two…. Looking for third.  Letters, letters… 300 Sonic words a day and in many of those sessions you see LETTERS, in this creative colony on Apollo Way, West Santa Rosa. 

Slowing in sips of brew.  Where should I write before class.  Tired of S&H, so then my head goes to Whole Foods pub.  Still hungry, after pretzels and nuts.  Will need something a bit more substantial… do they still have that charcuterie plate?  They have wine, but can’t remember the list.

EOD, like a drug, a pill, a propellant and stimulant and calming composition of voices and variables.