A few journal bits from recent writings-Dec. 15th “and now I / Foam to wheat, glitter of seas / The child’s cry [from Ariel by Sylvia Plath]
Dec. 15th when your room is a town / and the hallways a thoroughfare / to climb into your own bed is trespassing
Dec. 16th What is it that keeps us focused and what are the things that derail us?
Dec. 22nd Trying to expose the soul is like catching carp with bare hands. If a soul wanted to be seen and recognized for all that it is it would show a little leg.
Dec. 24th Silence is the reversible side.
Dec. 24th. Guilt creeps through superficial cracks…
Dec. 26th I failed miserably.
Dec. 26th I don’t choose them; they find me (morning thoughts)
Dec 27th What does one have to do to get a glass of plain water?
Dec. 27th “The poet’s only hope is to be infinitely sensitive to what his gift is, and this itself seems to be another gift that few poets possess.” [Ted Hughes – London Magazine Vol. 1 NO. 2 1962]
Dec. 29th “pulp non-fiction / outdated upon arrival”
Jan 1st “I see the pox / on the old man’s face”
Jan 4th We’ve evolved into a voodoo age… Our current socio-political climate is so amerced in a high voltage hate that most Americans are of a mindset that they whish harm to come to those who are of a different (and usually believed inferior) view then themselves.
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