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Only time for a sped meditation.  Coffee in house thanks to wife— second cup already.  At winery early today— interrupted by Jack, then Emma and Alice—  interrupted again, Jackie changing his mind about the type of waffle he wants.  Assuredly a writing FATHER this morning.  Finally some calm, but that’s volatile like peaces of certain regions.  Noted quite a bit yesterday in the room, while people sipped, and about the wines I tasted there and the ones I brought home.  Can’t decide which had the most character or conviction— which with the most song.  The savory stress wine inflicts.  Love.

Bay Map, Race Track

No mood to write.
Nor to check up on my wine,
Talk about it. Take pictures?
Why? No fire. Should be
Bedded. But I
Stay up to write. From truth,
Authorial option. No more
Weeps from my little Artist.
I’m still in shake. At my limit
With storm, skirmish.
Sipping. A blend. Too lazy–
No, exhausted–to get up, stroll
To kitchen for label specificity.
And this entry, my last on device.
That Lit Mag in my eyes’ vice.
So easy, so formulaic.. all these
Testimonials. Give me a
Break. After I type this, on phone,
Mind you, I have to attach
Ridiculous tags. Did
Poe do that? Mr. Hemingway?
Faulkner? I’m retiring, to pen, paper,
For some considerable time.

Watching news. Finally in relax with
Pleased mask. What a concept, in this
New onset. Rain on way, my brain on play–
Real Life, at the deal’s knife. Avoiding trite
Spite. I’m neither pawn nor knight. In flight
With a new perspective.. Less objective, but
More selective. Hotel Room, locked in sober
Scribble.. No spelled swoon, frustrated,
Equilibrium serrated. But impact, not
Fully anticipated. Repose, as the show faded.
How can I dodge the fact– I’m a poet,
Jaded by the politics, in all of this.. no hit, miss.
Hackers invaded.. No safe spot but on paper’s
Play lots. See self with tommy gun, spray
Shots. Realization, intimation on all sides
Of oration; imbibed with 4 ways pinned.

(2/18/13)

Through it, Fluid

Slow. Still. My stance reflects.
Not sure what do next do. Can’t even
Talk correctly. Want that hail to come back.
Tonight, finishing 2 poems.
Stop with the promises, I know–
Anxiety glow. Weather changing
With a writer’s current.
My own vile vintage.
Expected, 2B not. Altruist..
Tonight, locked in. No escape.
Fleeing gives goals individual
Death dates. Reset gates.. New
Vision, constancy in division.
A cover, pages under, my only mission.

12/22/12

You, smitten

Laziness.. My treat to Self. Weekend..
This actually feels like one. Usually, I’d be
Getting ready for class. But not today.
Thank you, finals week. Social media
Distractions, push further into action set. Jack
Would be disappointed, if he knew I wasn’t
Resisting with true stubbornness.
Need to flood Self with written obligation,
in this new journal, bought 2day.
Love absence of lines. Just that roughly
Rustic blankness, vixen’d void.
Metallic teeth chasing ink’s choreography.
Attached to keys, guided measure.
Finish verse prior to intermission end.

12/17/12

working till I can’t believe I’m still
On clock. Frustrated with evidence lack. Complain, I know I’ll listen. Under
item piles. One poem a day– delivered on tray. Little worried about bridges.. Half are only half, dropping me into
bent water bodies. Another song,
putting me in sleep. New street.

[9/18/12]

3

Dial my own number
2 see if I’m ever really
there. find I’m nowhere.

Impaired through these.
Look for three trees with pleased ease;
Rings at door afford.

Impossible 2
forecast curriculum’s sum.
Real spiel congealed, peeled.

[8/23/12]

verb verse

only plus, no minus. can’t afford it.
forest schedule. lost. my roar leveled,
toss rationale into wine ponds till i’m
gone. targeting what slows Self; what
glows, bells. shore and otherwise. speeds of rudders rise; airborne tensions from commercial apprehensions. my words’ll add and end it. what that means, exactly, not
sure. improvement struggle, till the lot’s pure– rival writers face my tidal drivers. unpublished poetry, only written for my introspectively free sea.
halt repeat, begins another sheet. recite to literate crowds on a small street. my read repeat– try bleed meek feats. run down market with creek cleats …

a.m. rushed rime, clutch climb [verse 2]

Speak in rimed curves; 2 much 2day, cuvée, my mind

slurred; she, like a domesticated, purred; preferred the old

world approach; for me, no coach; in my own boat, a lone

coat, like mutated amphibians in a moat, hungry for

epidermis, my letters word this, rather pragmatically.

So what am I, one to just vocalize?  Probably, my second chapter

should have been third; I’m a theory nerd–  weary, absurd.

Out of space, my cloud is based in something just to the

left of fiction, with postmodern anti-structuralist

vision.  Another incision, and why should a writer

listen?  Being responsible, just acceptance of convivial

prison.  Not for me, I’d rather stay in song, delay the long;

a full tray of wrong–  I’m okay, just bombed.  Evaluatively

oblong.  And in the woods, I can only hear good.  No

proposed would, could.  Solitude, the finest neighborhood.

Self-induced spell, well-to-do sell.  Voluntarily fell in biblical

swells.

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