The best part of monthly “events” like NaPoWriMo and the August Postcard Poetry Festival is that it gets you to sit down at the blank page every stinkin’ day. Yeah, so what if you miss a day. Who cares? I guess I do. It interests me that even if I think I might have to declare a day off because I have no ideas at all in my head, even if I come this close to just pulling the covers over my head without writing a single word… if I start thinking about it on the way home, maybe I can pony up a phrase. If I sit down at the computer with the file open, I type the [***] which for me (please take note future researchers) designates a different day, and then I type something. It might be sketchy. It might be a decent first draft of a poem but it’s something. So that’s what you’re getting here – a sketchy first draft, just like the twelve that came before it. The past few days there has been a definite NON-flowing of words, so I take what I find.
Walking. I’m walking.
in my dream I am walking.
Dark. I am alone.
The moon is behind striped clouds
The trees are leafless.
songs quenching the thirsting rocks
moon glints on river.
wind brushing back wisps of clouds
night tinted silver.
