A Sunday Notebook

"Gender agreement." Really?
Il Poeta goes on a nod.
Nota bene:

*

Does the beauty of what's left out
exceed the beauty of what's included?

Isn't that why art is continually renewed
by what was previously discarded?

*

Do you trust facility?

Do you stick with what you know you can do?

*

What place does revelation have in your life?

To what extent are you willing to expose yourself to the world?

*

I'm impulsive
but don't trust
my own instincts.
That can
be a problem
(both for myself
and for poetry).


*

I'm riffing.

Los Lobos
on the box.

Fans purring.

Warm August day.

*

The anxiety's abated a little.
The depression's pulled back some.
My right knee is burning and the corresponding hamstring
is giving me fits.

*

I've forgotten
the unforgettable scenes
in a novel
I once loved,
a film I once praised.

*

Barb looked at me
in that way she has
last night
when I said to stop
blotting the ground beef.

You want this grease
she asked?

It's the cradle
of Civilization.

Show some respect
I replied.

*

Geof often says that puns
are the highest form
of poetry. I often
veer the same way.

I once wrote
a longish poem
pretty much entirely
in puns. It was called
Stupid Poet Tricks.

I even sent it
to David Letterman
hoping to get on the show.

Geeze.
I can be an idiot.

*

Tell a vision.

*

How do you
think about death?

Is it
a continuation
of life?

Or a
full stop?

*