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. 

darkness daring unedited throw

The pandemic rolls on. We gather in isolation. Wishing the normal to return. I wonder what makes the future. What dreams we notice and become. O live now, but not forever. Life has gifted me many things. May it present a path away from personal pronouns. Eye see.  Mystery mixes along a tangent line. A touch askew. A vision anew. And eye ask, is this disturbing unfocused sight true. Give me teases of wisdom and rhyme. Make the line sing a pleasure, but for a poetic moment of blue.  And then sue. Accuse and assign. My mind darkens and drifts. Though I  cover my face. Only the eyes peek.

I'll take the time and regret. I'll meet you there. I loved  shadows all along. Never trusted my perception of things. And as age and sin compound, I suspect shapes playing about beyond the peripheral.  A slight slicing position of mind. Drift. In and out of bottles, mornings, manic cleaning, measures of affection. Solid A there.

And so. Keep course. Find. Make the way forward. I'll always play. Rip on, try again. I'm not going to stop. I'm life as pure as I know it. Because there's only me here, and you. In small doses. Envision flight and Desire. Walk on. Walk on.