I’ve been feeling desperate. Hungry. Looking for words.
I want to write.
All around my house. All around my city. Picking up crumbs. Thrown away phrases.
Discarding old thoughts. Old feelings.
I don’t want to write about pain.
Chronic physical pain.
Let’s not talk ourselves
Into a rut.
I’m finding new things everyday. New ways to live,
Which are actually very old.
I can’t help when the mail comes.
When news gets to my little street off the Hudson.
Or when I’m still long enough to hear the wind.