hmm. okay. this is basically meant to be a look at life, time, and memory. moments. short moments, the little things from the typing of one letter to the next... are insignificant and tend to be forgotten. moments also tend to be forgotten in long periods of time -- from birth to death, for instance, or... say, just twenty years. or that alzheimer's ditty someone posted. just trying to put things in some sort of perspective (but pointedly, or lazily, leaving out the "middle" where things "matter"). I suppose I didn't do such a good job with the poem, though, if that's not there to be read.

I don't know baby, I love it as is but I can see what you mean, she's fat, but she's sexy anyway. Some line break changes maybe, I can't do a thing right now, I'm overwhelmed with the fucking blossoms, I'm hanging my head out the window, literally, it's so fucking beautiful tonight I wish I could share it. It was 80 degrees today and the plants are going crazy. No moon, no breeze, just balmy and so much perfume.

Writing is everything. I too have been writing like mad. Crayons and pencils; anything handy, including napkins and junk mail envelopes. The potential is you, bottom line. Tell me a story. I am so hungry for a good story. Poetry has become somewhat a relic. My good sweet William, your heart, your heart is alive with it, so tell me everthing, let's go for a ride. First of all get rid of anything that can not transend For example Kindergarten Computers? Too much yours and yours alone. Anything that has the word 'of ' in it needs to be carefully scrutinized. No ' of's ' if possible. and also should be eliminated "there's nothing to it" is a beautiful line I repeat it to myself like a prayer "Even on the news I look for them Feet up on boxes I am paid to be opening A click through 100 channels Maybe But I doubt it". Write your prose. Give me your sugar.