Before the final sprint to Solano, I’m curiously eased. Or maybe it’s not so odd, as I’m associated with a wonderful new winery, have incredible colleagues, and relentless material for my pages surrounds all clock ticks. Listening to some beats I made a while ago, scribbling illusionary poetry, prose. Syllabically irregular webs.
No planning. All need be ad hoc. Each drop of ink. 2010 closes, I awake, I feel.
Caffeinated, four shot mocha. More outspoken
than Kanye and Opera.
Another skirmish, critics seem nervous.
Counting words in my erratic blurbs. Repetition,
begets my mission. Vineyards glisten with early
hour dew. Recite to blue jays, celebrating new
days. Tonight, me go to Pinot. Reactions onto
paper sheets, bleed slow. More politics, please