Thursday, November 1, 2007

Forgotten Lines

I woke up this morning with a poem in my head. It was short and complete and packed a wallop. After getting up, letting the dog out, feeding her a treat for going "potty" in a timely manner, treading through the patio with a flashlight, beating back the remnants of the potato bush which hangs in front of my writing room door, turning on the heater, checking for spiders under my desk and slipping a Nanci Griffith tape into the CD player, I was left with one line: "A world without alarms can become a grind".
How wish I could call our local bookstore and have them search their obscure records for out of print publications and order this poem for me. I really should keep pen and paper beside the bed.

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