and it

And it feels like all my choices are bad now. Not in totality. Not axes and curses. But I know. I know I've not lived up to the full frame of my picture. And I don't mind telling you this. Because nobody reads this blog anymore. Well, except you. 

And hello you!

I've gone from poet to domestic warrior. The energy and effort expensed upon the real and concrete actions of day to day making, and maintaining. 

Perhaps if I had been cloistered as Emily D. I would have been better prolific. But now I've gone to rot with booze, tobacco, and sprinkler systems. 

La!

I'll take my award as a stable, listening, on time someone. But the novel is not coming now. Not until a watershed of wellbeing.

And for that, I apologize. 

Fear not. This, as ever, is not my final form.