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Sunday, 21 May 2006
It's not coming together.
A drenching and yet more poetry. Hunger is in sight and the shoes dry on the radiator as slow, computer thought comes into an equation of its own. The end of the street is hazed with water, bust gutters as tap onto concrete yards, and I am waiting.
The daily occurance, keeping up an appearance of sorts has been made today. Judging a songwriting competition, live unaccompanied voices, my remit as poet - look at the words. I listen to the words.
Hurry across the streets, vault the standing water, there are no cars.
Third poetry reading in two weeks, this one impromptu and killed by fortifying, awe-filled preludes of Bach from solo violin immediately after. A follow, followed.
Poetry is becoming a nice habit.
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