Thursday, March 01, 2018



I'm always writing.  24 hours a day I got my antenna up waiting to hear from the muse.

Most of the time the signal is weak, creaky.

But sometimes it's perfect.

Either way, I write it down.

And what happens is that I have a house full of little sheets of paper.   Everywhere.

Sometimes I find one, and I say that's it. That's right and I put it in the pile of stuff I'm working on.

Sometimes I find one and wonder where it came from and where it's going.  I put it back where I found it.

Here's one of the poems I put back where I found it.

Hurry Home -- It's getting late


Black man came out of the dark woods
singing a song


White man came out of the dark woods
singing the same song


Here's what they sang:

The graves of the dead
are the graves of the dead


In Jerusalem they do
the hokey pokey
and they turn it all around