August 23, 2013

Midday, sweaty and dirt-blackened after a bout with the garden. Up came all the wasted tomatoes, with their rain-swollen vines and rotted fruits. They are surprisingly robust. Gigantic spiders heave themselves around on the stems and in the treetops.

Forty five years of writing poetry began on this date. Maybe I’ll pause around 9 PM, when I began to write my first poem in my little green room facing the street. I was lovesick then and I am lovesick now, though then it was rather more specific.

Added another step to my bench in step aerobics. It made all the difference; I was praising Jesus when the session was over. Zach gave me wild grapes from his yard, They exhibit  the most invigorating spectrum of contrasting tastes.

Stupendous sadness last night, almost too strange to tell of by the light of day. You speak to the Darkness as though it were a rational mind, able to comprehend your argument, able to mend its ways or, at least, show mercy.