oh gracious.

Rather than write a disjointed narrative of the past few weeks, I will choose to write a disjointed poem. Because in poetry I can get away with it. I was going to try haikus, but my life doesn't seem to fit into syllabic structure. I shall call this poem...



"garden salsa sun chips"


as i walk two steps ahead of your gorgeous self
i am painfully aware
of a conspicuously brown fleck of paint
on the ass of my pants.

caffeine makes my hands shake
and pitches crunch
bad for recital making
but so are pounding headaches.

there once was a teacher
who told me to play bach
like bob dylan
if he played the violin
"got it covered," i said
and played more wrong notes.

four dead fish
good thing i'm not a mom
or girlfriend.



The end.



Here's a recital poster for the road.