2005-10-16 | 3:31 a.m.
I wrote a poem the other night; a little softy homebody poem. Reading over it again I realize, Wow, it's really not very good. But what the fuck. Only one way to get better at writing poetry. (Or peotry, which I typed first. Maybe that's what I'm good at--peotry.)
Though the weather is unpredictable I love this time of year.
Neither cold nor hot, the winter's still not close enough to feel.
At night I like to go out front and plant in the cooling breeze.
Some runner comes by and whispers 'hi' and is gone before
I can do anything but smile.
The sky is clear, the streetlight near and I forget to be afraid
of West Nile virus, disapproving neighbors, or sunburn
when the midnight hose trickles and flows so happily.
10/13/05 about 2 a.m.
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