today it is raining

on our daily walk, so instead i’m on our bed with zuzu sprawled sleeping across my belly, listening to birdie busch, ben folds and the shins and looking at old poems and wondering if thats all there is for me as i’m increasingly out of touch. or maybe poets should be out of touch, maybe thats how individuality and great creativity can be cultured? golly, my mfa feels like it was a billion years ago, i don’t know if i know anything anymore, besides the simple country things and my simple country life i write about. no matter; i will do as God created me to do, which is to create, notoriety or no. its funny how ambitions change, how my hands got empty and my life got full

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