July 6, 2026

it’s seven o’clock
and i’m writing
and the wind is blowing
and my wrist has not yet started hurting [as much as it was yesterday]
and the birds are screaming
and the dog is observing
and the cat is nowhere to be seen

the tea is hot
the coffee is ice cold
and the water is the temperature of our old house’s old pipes
[so, in the summer, not quite as cool as we’d like]
[and in the winter far too cold]
but it’s a summer day
a summer morning
and the window is open
and the rain will be falling all day today
and i hope it feels like the planet is healing
so we, as a species, can maybe follow suit.

March 22, 2026

i’m not getting out what i want to get out
this morning

[but the problem with having
a writing practice
of trying to get things out
in the morning
is that sometimes
you’re only half awake
and half aware
of the things that actually need to be stated/written/gotten
out

so sometimes you just have to write
about the fact that the writing
just isn’t doing it this morning
and hope that makes something come out]

September 14, 2025

not feeling the morning page poetry
this morning

but that doesn’t mean
i won’t do it

i mean

i continue to do this
every
single
morning
whether i’m in the mood or not
just to have something to do
just to have a habit to latch onto
just to have some proof
to say
‘i was here, i had thoughts and feelings and insights, too’
and maybe someone will read them soon
and maybe someone will read them in hundreds of years
and maybe
because they’re all digital
they’ll disappear into the ether

but

maybe the ether will get a kick out of all these poems

and they and the void can talk about me
behind my back
when i’m long long long gone

March 16, 2022

quiet the mind,
shush the brain,
but don’t force the silence
because then that’s all that remains.

i wonder if that’s why others’ poetry
takes longer to write;
because rhythm/rhyme/meter
don’t all happen in one night,

or just one setting,
like sitting in this morning page sun
listening to Japanese hip-hop lofi
and just kinda ~wish~ my scheme into one

sentence
then another
and another
and losing track
and losing steam
and losing the scheme
i [vaguely] thoughtfully put in here
and hearing the rhymes in my head
but only scattered/stilted/disjointed/
disappointed
i continue on
disrupting any complex pattern that might have arisen
so i can continue on this mess of a poem
and pretend that’s just
How I Write

(instead of
how
i think)