Oh, what a weekend.

Every muscle making a fist, the half muscles left my leg twitching and contracting, expanding in rapid succession; spasm is what I am talking about but wording my way around.
Listening to Fryderyk Chopin - Nocturnes, Op. 15: No. 3 in G Minor at present.

drinking well made coffee from a comic mug and helping my son write Valentines for his class and a special one for a special girl. He will unfortunately be ill for the party tomorrow. Poor kid.

I am leaving this post unfinished and later am going to take a muscle relaxer while I sit down at my typewriter and write my fellows - return the letters received, work on my newest poetry, and try to start writing a play for Theater Undreground [sic]. I know the play I want to write, I've been thinking about it for years, and they've asked several times, the least I can do it try.

You've seen this one before unless you haven't - I think it fits in with Jingles newest theme so I will place my name there as well.
Tired and no excuse to be so.

Let the coffee flow, flow, flow and the cigarettes smoke curl in query marks, curl into hearts, curl into clouds of what children lay and witness.

3 poems fitting harmoniously together

1

third rate diner

writing poems on

paper napkins;

inadvertently blowing my nose into

the most recent.

2

modern medicine

modern medicine is/was always a marvel

no matter the year

until we need for the end

then it’s simply horrible.

3

loving

such good loving

such good nurturing,

such good loving,

such good fucking.

 - Hoc Scripsi