Fissures
I'm at work.
I didn't write today. I cleaned.
Last week sucked mightily.
I have the next three days off.
This is not a poem. This is how my brain is working now.
I want D to be happy. I want Moby to be happy.
Moby is easier. He got to lie in the sun on a curl of red wool today. He was happy.
I am happier than the patients I cared for tonight.
My po feet ache all the way to my knees.
I have fissures abutting the nails on both thumbs.
This could be a hundred words.
Posted by Zhoen on Thursday, November 15, 2007
3 comments:
This is not a poem.
This is how my brain is working now.
I want D to be happy.
This is so powerful. Such a powerful image. Sorry for what it took to spawn it. Take care of yourself. This is the kind of sparse, clear stuff I think you need to always keep a firm framework of beneath your lush flow of words in the novel.
Jean,
I hear you. Re writing the first bit with just this kind of simplicity in mind, while setting a scene, putting it in a place, not just in a void.
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