May 23, 2026

Had to get a winter coat to cover me last night, clutching a sweater to my body just now. Playing a new CD of Gregorian chant. Ave Maria. . . .Last night full of dreams and an incredible volume of urine. I don’t remember drinking nearly that much. In one of the dreams I was in some quaint Old World village which had been Yeats’ childhood home. The store selling his memorabilia was closed, so I broke in to have a look, finding incredible treasures in te basement, which seemed to disintegrate as my hand touched them. I was crying out for the shopkeeper to help me as the dream ended. 

Decided to put together another book of poetry. I have enough poems for four solid books, with no presently perceivable principle of selection. A despair of riches.