As though Newsweek will never ask
me to subscribe again and I will be left
pitiful and crying on my living room floor
with nothing authoritative to read and
pictures of Hillary and Barack and John
will be absent from my coffee table that
is homemade and already leaning slightly
to one side but still my life will have no
color or substance or direction which will
lead me to substance abuse and neglect
of my children.
We’ve been down this road before.
You know where to find me.
It’s the house behind the chipped blue
mailbox that no one has bothered
to affix a name or number to.
5 comments:
Thanks, Talia. It took me about three minutes to write this piece last night and I like it better than anything I've written thus far. It's that free flow of words thing I've been trying to achieve for more than a year. I wonder if it will ever happen again.
nice, yes, the free flow usually produces the most authentic work...and then flits off again to wherever it hides for the majority of your life...are you bringing this to the wm?
Yes, this is what I'm serving up today.
I thought you made a move toward fiction... You should bring some of that too.
I am working on the fiction, amazingly enough through the poetry, if that makes any sense. I guess I'm working out ideas in both spheres at the moment. I'll bring a section of fiction, though.
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