Tuesday, August 12

The morning is muggy as mornings are. Filled with financial planners and watering cans, laundry still to be done and cofee is lukewarm. Wilco on the stereo-thank Mike-o. Gata got tuna this morning, the market is in my future.

Last week my sister said she was a dark cloud hanging over everything. When a dark cloud did roll over us she felt the burden lifted. Alex told me not to get all vesty on him. War sang Low Rider on Regis and Kelly. Dubble Bubble blew LL Cool J away on Today. Rain comes down in sheets and my spedometer is acting up.

My father's anxiety is about breathing, not space, and the wall oxygen helps. I might have read your poems in Gerrit's birthday box last night. Ken Irby colored pencils! Brenda in pink! Corbett grandchild!

This summer the sun pours down like watered-down orange drink, not honey. Something is always a mess, inside or out. Name dropping could be nothing more than love.

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