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Follow me at poetwit. That's who I am, now. |
Is back. |
needs a kick in the pants |
Missing my southern accent. |
I should be meditating. |
Missing my parents. Missing my old cats, Muppet and Maude. Listening to Chip and Angus shake a little red tambourine downstairs. |
Wondering where the New Yorker fiction issue is in this house. |
Wanting to go to bed early, like right now. |
Brodsky: A swish of ruffles on the washed and ironed sheet of the bay and, for a moment, colorless air condenses into a pigeon or a seagull |
More Brodsky and sugar coffee |
Watching baby be strolled off to the PO. Should do something besides nothing. |
@hanabel Oh no. I hate cancer too. |
Do these pants need ironing? Not really. |
Answering the question, "Should I wear a tie?" No. |
Left to-do list downstairs. Have no idea what to do. |
Reading Brodsky: The grave will render us all alike. So, if only in our lifetime, let us be various! |
Or exquisitwit corpse? |
Thinking about poetwit. Has this really not been done? |
Just finished reading excellent E Annie Proulx story in the New Yorker. |
DVR was not recording Survivor! Is now. Feeling very connected to my TV. |
