February 2, 2016 § Leave a comment




(yesterday’s improv at the case. graphite rubbing from our last play date)


the thing about mistakes is they aren’t necessarily
they are simply another possibility another way; they can mean
can be freedom


June 13, 2013 § 2 Comments



and it was just the red I wanted.

And fifty poems later I have figured out a sense of home, an adjective among other things and adverb the way house is not, but
no verb the way house is, one a trope the other, in a word, trappings

and now I’m stalling

the last house’s poem(s) to write, already daunted by the editing I’m like the kildeer,
devising the next book (of poetry, straight up, ha! already have the title, maybe, and the poems in a pile in front of me, but it is good & ok to have side projects on the ready while you are stalled on another…not that it gets you off, me off the finishing hook…)
stalled because I’m not sure how I want to put together the several projects which will have been spawned in search of home. Stalled because I am daunted by the editing and haven’t found my editor’s stance yet. Not true, stalled and daunted by the editing because I haven’t taken the time to sit. Still.

Anyway it was just the red I wanted, and today I go in search of gray with just a silvery hint of rose.

What are you doing she had asked in return
Playing with color and form, I’d said, so maybe I’m not stalled at all, I’m preparing learning practicing discovering some of what I will need to know for the constructing and crafting for the creating of that book which so far has no form.

Maybe I’m not stalled at all, maybe it’s on the way, maybe I’m on its way.

Where Am I?

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