Would that I could bring you here,
Saturday afternoon,
To listen to the neighbor's air
Conditioning the moon.
The distant highway murmurs
It's uninteresting way,
And a starling and a robin
Take turns bathing anyway.
I could get a pizza
Or a soda
Or some beers
But I'll sit here typing bullshit
Until something good appears.
I'll continue piling words on
Until plots and stories happen
And I'll do this while Pandora
Streams me Bach and Eric Clapton
A thousand unread words
Will filter out from whence they came
And the characters will follow
And I'll give each of them a name.
There is Benner,
He's a psycho,
There is Amy,
She's his date.
There goes Collin,
He's a homeless man
Who will pontificate.
There will be a
Wild kerfuffle
In a house
Without a phone
Even though the page
is crowded
Every writer writes alone.
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