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, November 9, 2018

Fog morning mist


November 9, 1968 (I was 23)

Fog morning mist
most delicate of webs
of the astounding variety only seen holding together the green
in loose shrubbery when the sun is right
or when traced against gray in shattered glass dew
Your creator walks upon eyelashes
seeing all things forming and un-forming
in its strict infinity of patterns
devouring insignificant morsels
allowing their clarity for only a second
and planning new threads even as we dissolve
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