Sixty-four times twenty-four hours until work begins again.
With a truck to buy and a move to make out of Denver.
With meetings to attend, meals to prepare with violent
creativity and a bit of volunteering at this or that event.
With walks to take in the snow, to the store; to the rec. center.
With a daunting amount of material to read in preparation
for agriculture.
And a brain packed with divergent interests,
misplaced passions, energies and emotions.
That chunky, pink Royal with a stubborn margin release
won't lend my fingers the dexterity to continue manually.
My handwriting floats in and out of legibility and the front
steps have been swept too often of the fresh snow.
I return humbly, to the electronic world, to give birth to:
a 5 page essay on feminism I screech out one
Washington Park, windy afternoon here;
a comic series I coughed up in early January, there.
It is not with boredom, but with focus that I embark here.
Focusing on not all the pressures to do it all, but on the
desire to begin one thing, and proceed to the next.
feel free to find a warm corner, a thought to pick, a witty jab
and any what-have-you's you might find clinging to the unswept ceiling
of these entries.