Can’t sleep. Head’s splitting with words. Linked connections running
inky roots feeling
for overspillage
or is it
slippage?
Short bouts of dry-heaves shake me in fits and starts… and the feelings behind the words…
Bite back, swallow hard: it’s what I do thesedays.
Bite back, swallow hard: to keep from drowning.
Nib poised hooklike fishing words out into the light letters spilling onto the paper splashing. Words. Pages and pages of paragraphs. Not bad for a person who hasn’t spoken more than one or two short sentences at a time
(is that Mahler on the radio?)
eversince
.
.
(no, too morose)
But now isn’t the time. Spin dial. It’s America
Ventura Highway
where the days are longer, the nights are stronger than moonshine
you’re gonna go, I know
‘cause a free wind’s blowin through your hair
and the day surrounds your daylight there
freedom’s crying no despair
alligator lizards in the air
.
Trip to the bathroom to pee can’t get a grip slippery hands yet the words keep coming like a chain-gang of dusty men under a heavy sun sweating black marks across these pages quicker than I can turn them. Swallow harder. Repeatedly. The way you do to stop your eardrums popping when the plane plummets in for a landing. But the words fight their way back defiantly like healthy salmon leaping against the current. I gulp again with two fingers down my throat - Upchuck City
.
… here we come… where happy days we count on thumbs… and nothing ever gets us down… How much wood could a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood?
.
.
… here we come… where happy days we count on thumbs… and nothing ever gets us down… How much wood could a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood?
.
Wordsminglewave at length at the ones oozingketchuplikeslow through the speaker. Joni Mitchell:
.
Don’t it always seem to go
you don’t know what you’ve got ‘til it’s gone
put up a parking lot.
.
Successfully counting cars crawling the street outside: unsuccessfully counting down to abeyance. Sleep is a far-off land I can’t get to from here. What to do? Sick of TV and books. To do what? Wrestle helplessly with hopeless restlessness while awkward boredom abounds?
