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, March 10, 2017

Birdman


March 10, 1971   (I was 26)

Birdman
why don’t you admit
you are a mutant
instead of calmly folding your wings
up behind your head like arms.
What did you see today
planing over the desert
alone and smiling?
There must be thoughts you had
or songs you heard.
Birdman
your heart beats blood of mine;
do not deny me knowledge.
Speak more than one tear
upon your feathered cheek.
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