February 7th, 2004

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signs of life

as lisagail says, I am a slow writer. on the other hand, at least I write. I've seen celebrated poets with thinner collected works than I could have at this point were anyone to care that I had any collected works at all.

but so six months after the last addition here are two more paragraphs for rock keeps paper:

hope painted in bright green spray and was it a name or some other hope. a certain cussedness is required to progress from one damned thing to another but success doesn't depend upon wresting this or that confession rather upon the liveliness of the session. the stress of many hours spent in small rooms.

ink can never be the match of light. how much bluer the sky were it orphaned. how much better the nap were it christened one particular way and not the other. denatured alcohol and the blister pierced might come to blows or at least a shiver or riven in two.
  • Current Music
    Smoke - Trust
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appetite

now I'm craving a reuben.

it may be that I have not gotten enough grease and salt just lately.
  • Current Music
    Smoke - Clean White Bed