I am intrigued by how words mean when we imply that they do,
how they tend to break up across the rock of accountability
and in the soup kitchen of the unconscious.
Do you know what I mean?
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Nothing to Write Home About
I have nothing to write, not here, not now as something slips my mind, trading souvenirs of time for fruitful things forgotten.
I never carry a notebook either...if I lose a creative bit O verse, I know another will come about soon enough, Just like this creative bit of verse came to replace the lost one.
sometimes I think that the slippage is the thing... that elusiveness that keeps me coming back. I like what you have done here with this little verse...it has a nice wistfulness about it. thanks...:)
Nice, short and sweet and everything in.
ReplyDeleteHappy day.)
Sarah
I never carry a notebook either...if I lose a creative bit O verse, I know another will come about soon enough, Just like this creative bit of verse came to replace the lost one.
ReplyDeleteThanks for stopping by, Sarah. How are the writing travels treating you these days?
ReplyDeleteWM, thanks for the comment. Sometimes I carry language like a notebook; but mostly it carries me and slips away.
sometimes I think that the slippage is the thing... that elusiveness that keeps me coming back. I like what you have done here with this little verse...it has a nice wistfulness about it. thanks...:)
ReplyDeleteJump in, hang on, and enjoy the ride.
ReplyDeleteThe slippage is the no/thing, indeed!