thursday, december 25
outside, cold and mostly dry
dirty snow just left in ditches
piles and skiffs beneath trees
and logpile shadows
woodsmoke drifting
in here, general disarray
scattered paper, boxes, blankets
clothing, food
my empty wineglass by the keyboard
today i read:
old mail from friends,
papers i found stacked on my bedroom floor
from the first few years of college,
the part of guns, germs, and steel
about the invention of writing,
gary snyder from a thin paperback
i bought for my sister
sometimes i see myself in perfect relief
earnest hopes and efforts to impress
self-assurance falling into pieces
toy alphabets on notebook covers
strange ideas never quite fit
everything just kind of
overthought
underknown.
life so generally full
of chances to learn
it's amazing
what you can let yourself forget.