five thirty this morning I started my day. By six am I was making paper airplanes.
My sons first paper airplane was completed today and he learns the lesson again of practice practice practice. This lesson in life cannot be learned enough, it lessens the burden of disappointment when things doing go as well as we had hoped.
I always walk up to this keyboard with nothing on my mind to say and today is no different. A large part of this is that writing here is usually the first thing I do after making coffee, half written before the coffee is ready I tend to fade in and out of consciousness while I am writing. This leads to interesting tangents on most days and others a garbled mess that I don't go back to reread. This is the price of a daily blog- the admittance that I cannot find a way in everyday, and there are bad weeks but I try to walk away from those intact.
rentrant
Because I am no more beautiful
than you,
my tenderness is forgotten
my holy love is scattered across
America;
with only ___________ driving me ahead.
And this is old.
this is the last thought of a 23-year-old man.
Discovered a decade later during a
time of low productivity,
(without which it would not have been discovered)
and since they say you can never go home.
I won’t.
- Hoc Scripsi
Hey, let the bells ring.
chicago poetry. poetry for a people. poetry for a moment. poetry to satiate the need. poetry of an american outlaw. poetry for the best words in their best order. poetry by Jhon Baker
Friday, May 14, 2010
morning Babble
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Hug from Boston, T.
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