the rivers i've cried this year, and these come from another source. the font somewhere deep inside that i don't yet know.
the trick is to not keep crying, yet not to damn up the flow.
my chapbook is in hand, that is good news.
my other book is in hand, that is good news.
my people are healthy, that is good news.
what else could i ask for?
there is uncertainty in the air, and these days, it's not housed with certainty. it doesn't come carried on winds of faith.
it's more a hot dry desert breeze, that seems to suck the moisture out of you. but i'm writing sad again, and i'm really not.
yet, feel the end of a great many things at hand.
not the same person i was, ever discovering who i am now. and wondering what will come. i say,
all that is mine will come to me.
but i never much mention what i will let go.
we can't continue packing shit in barns, we have to let things go. i think about this often. the move to ny was grueling because it was the first major, i'm talking throw away everything but the essential, purge of my life.
and i like to purge. but i also pad my nest.
so, i feel it's time to launch out, a few twigs in beak and build a new nest.
bare essentials again. and i think about what i have and if i could live without it.
the stuff is easy to let go. it's always the people that get me.
murmurs of a return to texas, and my blood runs cold. i don't want to go back there, ever. it is not home to me.
i know i can make my own way here, but i'm not sure if i am ready for all that means. if i can handle all that means.
we'll see.
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