Trip the finials. And my left side is bound up like a rifle. Writing first thing in the morning. Three whole pages, instructions of the creativity book I've maybe cracked open once. Such good intentions. So little follow through. Hoyte Smith in the morning: Mozart. And the neighbors light is on so earyly in the morning. Still dark. Forever fogged in the hills. I love my home. My little breadbox in the jungle. And the kitties crunch a welcome. Three pages. Ai-yah. I don't think that is likley. Am I really holding this pen Drifting in and out of Friday. Baby stirs and flops his wee arm onto my head. Such little lungs. He breathes in the life of dewdrops. Never will he be this tranquil until nightfalls. Perhaps a quarter hour left of stillness before his Diurnal Chaos. Oh, what a small tyrant. I'd much rather sleep. Kiss the sweet tips of sleepytime. His butterfly lashes quiver...

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Last Five
treasure - Thursday, Sept. 06, 2006
need - Sunday, May. 22, 2005
where is here - Friday, May. 13, 2005
save me. - Monday, May. 09, 2005
nonsense - Sunday, May. 01, 2005

ALL