I beseech you, don't make me beg...

I’m scaling down this weeks summit and being careful, but not particularly graceful in my descent. Monday and Tuesday were relatively speaking manageable days. Wednesday was on the other hand, one of those days where it all falls apart and topples down on you. So today, I continue down the incline, but with concern as not to create an avalanche behind me.

There are but two days left for people to respond to my survey on the sidebar about rewrites. I want to blog some next week on revisions and while such a survey is of course not scientifically representative of the poet population as a whole, it will give me some idea as to what readers here might consider their norm. So please, don’t make be beg, (I look so undignified) if you haven’t done so already, take a moment to respond.

Couple of bits from my journal this week:

• The lady up the street powered up her nose / in a mammoth snub / I flashed an Indian corm smile / like I wanted her approving curtsy
• Afternoon slumps / Holding its hands in its pockets
• I would watch her sleep / Sometimes in silent fog
• You popped my bubble wrap / In italicized arrogance / I popped yours in return