Bah, humbug. I am feeling Scrooge-ish, feverish, waspish, warpish, etc. Even though the skies are not cloudy all day, Trigger nickers so winningly and the corn is as high as an elephant's eye. I have worked another 12 hour day and I am still here, at work. I love what I do except when I eat cheese curds for dinner and get NO exercise. Home to scrounge a poem for the poets tomorrow night. A dirty poem, a soiled hankerchief of a poem, a ratty poem, a neglected poem, a poem squiggling crookedly across the page.
Perhaps I will eat strawberries in their perfection and the right answers will come. My anxiety will disappear, the heavens will send down shortcake and whipped cream and there will be peace on the land. And the trolls in the White House will dig themselves back into their grottos and crags on the side of Warlock Hill.
I wait for a sign.
6 comments:
"the heavens will send down shortcake and whipped cream and there will be peace on the land. And the trolls in the White House will dig themselves back into their grottos and crags on the side of Warlock Hill."
None of that is going to happen. Well maybe the trolls part. We can only hope.
I ate vitamins for lunch yesterday at work. And then I ran out of water.
I feel like I've been waiting for a sign for a full 25 years.
Dana-One day I will be found on my kitchen floor after having choked on the fistfull of vitamins. Running out of water is a damn tragedy.
April-I suspect that my cats are actually FBI in little fur suits.
Beth, we need to get together now that my body is in fairly good working order. I miss you. You = awesome.
Dana-yes,o, yes. I want to watch you rebuff the advances of lame-o 'poets', esp the ones wearing berets. A noodling good time. I hear Ugly Mug is a good venue for readings...
What is this Ugly Mug you speak of? I am in, whatever it be. I would follow you anywhere you led me. OK, not anywhere. Not Hades, for instance. Shoot me an e-mail and we'll hash out details.
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