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Personal Note:

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Poem

sit down & try to explain
to someone who doesn’t
hold a creative flair, just 
what it is like to walk, talk,
breathe, sing, eat, sleep,
lick, touch, grope, grab,
fondling, ****ing, attending
casual events with, dancing
with, picnicking with,
driving for long rides, boating
for short rides, flying,
bicycling, working working
working working working
(for money, not pleasure)
ALL WITH YOUR REAL
WORK ON YOUR MIND
(and by real work, this 
writer means “artwork,”
what others write off as a
hobby, what others see a
grown adult as spending so
much energy on absolutely
nothing)---try & explain
that this commitment is 
stronger than any bond 
between humans, try &
explain that this is how 
you function, try & explain
that this work is your
girlfriend, boyfriend, spouse &
next of kin, try & explain
that without it you would
be throwing Molotovs or
driving nails into your temples
with a nail gun, try & explain
that you are not the first,
that you are not original in
this dedication, try & explain
that this is a way of life, not 
something you do on 
weekend to pass the time until
you die, try & explain all this
& you will probably get 
nowhere, but it was fun trying,
no?

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