Ugh, writing is really haaaaard. As well as writing all this darned poetry, I'm working on a novel into the bargain. It proving mentally exhausting to switch between the two forms day in, day out. So eat your heart out, people who *think* they have a hard life - I'm living it right here!
There might be some wee photographs to go with tomorrow's effort, but for today, it's just the words. Tell your friends! Or don't, because no one CARES!
On Failure
I’ve
been eating pistachio nuts
as
a way of coping.
I
read somewhere
that
they have calming properties,
like
nuns on buses.
Life
is all about finding a place.
I
found my place in a musical score;
tomorrow
I’ll take you there.
But
you can’t tell anyone,
because
they’d get all neural about it,
and
I don’t have time for rational intrusions.
I’m
not going to lie to you,
I’ve
been lying to you all these years.
Calm
days don’t just walk out of the ether,
you
have to find them.
Generally,
they hide in unopened eggs
and
words you haven’t said yet.
Like
splomorphia, which is a word I just made up.
The
pile of pistachio shells increases.
We’re never getting out of here, are we, Pogo?
