December 18, 2016

Walked out in the dark of morning to a world soft and damp and misty, sweet as spring.

L wished me luck in my application for a state arts grant this year. I’ve stopped wondering how people know the things they know. It would be ironic to get one this year, after 22 failures, the very year my hatred of my adopted state’s government has reached the level of ecstasy.

Celebrated Russell’s birthday with our traditional trip to the movies, this time to see the Harry Potter prequel, Magical Beasts and Where to Find Them. Sweet, I thought. Dinner afterwards with Kyle. I wonder if I keep my friends sufficiently supplied anecdotes concerning my adventures and foibles. It seems to me I live the blandest of lives, partially intentionally, from a lifelong habit of fending off distractions.

A complicated day ahead, partially dependent on the status of my throat.

The gas heater breathes like a cat over in the corner. The real cat curls on my left foot.

The cry for years has been, how do I incorporate the political into my work, the way Yeats does? And still leave it poetry. The answer may have come in the High Five yesterday morning.