Tuesday, August 5, 2008
Bucky Done Gun
A few weeks ago my ex-cat finally caught a bird. He was so happy he played with the dead bird for hours, tossing it in the air and catching it again to replay the moment when he finally fulfilled his birthright as predator.
Yesterday I felt like my ex-cat after he finally caught the bird. I have been struggling for nine months (yea yea symbolism) to get back into the poetry. I've written plenty of prose, worked on the alleged novel, edited plenty of old poems but no new poesia was forthcoming. Until yesterday. I finally wrote a poem and today feel like I am made of wings. What a fantastic feeling. Joy! Joy slightly smudged because of the hangover; celebrating my joy with wine was a fine idea until the old Portuguese tuna fisherman at the bar kept buying me drinks. Ooof.