This is what it comes to. Everything fading away
like this morning’s shower. The noxious noise of the fucking
Blue Angels. I don’t get mad enough. Here’s
just a few words, like always. A snippet from
Tammy’s memoir of growing up in Rison. About a girl who
wows a breadman with her biscuits
and Velveeta fudge worth its weight in gold. Plus this book
that I’m addicted to. A cloudy reason for hope. Never
changing adjectives. A fat bluejay next to a squirrel
and the awful history of poetry.
