I don’t write in a journal everyday, but I have accumulated many entries over the past 50+ years beginning in 1966. Some items evolved into longer works. Among the leftovers little pieces survived. I thought a collection of these with a piece culled from the same date in a past year would make an interesting yearbook. The consistencies and inconsistencies of mind, skipping back and forth across time, provide varied perspectives. It is difficult to remember the context of the past we’ve lived; we also make suppositions about times that predate ourselves.

The few alterations from original drafts were to improve clarity. The worst of my work is not included. There remains enough mediocrity and immaturity to make me feel humble and you feel smart. There are also moments of accidental insight and incidental humor.

Author Stephen Crane referred to his little pieces as pills…apparently they were small and somewhat hard to swallow, but good for you.


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Friday, September 16, 2016

That man is gone


September 16, 1971  (I was 26)

       That man is gone
Yesterday I wrote about that man
and visions in the mountains
Then I bought leather boots
to wear with pride and other fancy clothes

That man is gone
I shouldna let him go
He always talked of leaving
but he always walked so slow
Today I pace the chamber
never say his name
afraid that if he comes back
he’ll find me just the same
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