1 september, denver colorado

(from cardboard notebook)


On the porch, nothing (there's) like the re-smoked. The dogs are sleeping. I wonder what George is doing

Everyone & their kids. Everyone & they're kids! It is nice, like refreshments. The last time with love. I'm not emotionally in it with you... I said. And what I want to know is, who asked? Or.. the looks long lingering long lashed, and then, my saying such a thing, a likely untruth? It was was it cruel. Or it was attempt (car blasts by) to cover up the exposure... proving it isn't anything other... or showing off maybe (cruelly...) that I am under no spell...
I, overflowing with possibilities for my sensitivities... spilling myself out... I'm so tired, my life is a mess,.. I'm dying inside,.. ha ha ha     The whole is poetry .
      Wyoming today. Waking among the green desert bushes and hard clay grounds beneath us. Rocks.

keeping up

for #27

mouth like a comma.

possible wet (but not whet),

washed in whatevers

for #26

ecstatic splosions

abound, unwound tenacious;

fearless in the throes.

I am abandoning thought to drift into the present. I even will refuse my own fun, for my own fun tends at times to drive me away. 

If I was made of it, I'd impress endlessly my own self.