Promising myself more poetry.  Be that poet, the one you were at SSU.

Fuck prose.

Any pattern or system or allegiance to some heralded form.  What will that do for you.

Logical question, honestly.

Story outside here in Sonoma County while Henry plays with his toys here in the nook around me, enlivening.

Cooking for one, indeed.  Me in these notes, the ones I post and don’t.

17:32… no idea what dinner is, I’ll figure it out.  My anger builds, and is enriching and spirit-lifting in a way I didn’t forecast.

I know some are reading this, stalking.  Hope their small litigious brains are entertained.