by Jackson Pollock
“Sometimes you finish the poem, and that last piece clicks in place. Sometimes the poem is finished with you.” ~ Frederick Seidel, from The Art of Poetry No. 95
Sunday afternoon. Partly cloudy and seemingly warmer, 74 degrees.
I hate this house. It’s lovely outside, but inside it’s humid and mucky. Oh well.
I wrote this one a few days ago. It came to me, as they sometimes do, and I did a revision, and then I went back to revise again, and it refused. Sometimes the poem does what it wants, and you are left looking on, wondering how that happened . . .
Oh well . . .
This is my first time in trying to import a PDF using Google docs, so let me know if it doesn’t work, please. I think if you click on the blue left arrow, the poem shows up . . . maybe? Not sure . . .
Music by Gossling, “Riptide”
Lola's Curmudgeonly Musings 