This morning as I was leaving the cafe I was stopped by one of the waitresses and asked: So, is this like your office or what – I see you come in and get lost for hours over there. Which is true: I do get lost for hours over there. Over there with scraps of paper. With notebooks. With ink. I have spent more of my life than not getting lost for hours. What my girlfriend terms: sinking into words.
Granted, this has led me to be the kind of guy who is no good at comebacks. I will stew over what someone says, look at it from every angle, think of every possible comeback, and only hours later have the thing I should have said. Which is a terrible way to be if one wants to interact socially. As a writer, however, I get to use the phrase a sensitivity to language to explain myself.
It is this sensitivity that has me hours later thinking about what else I could have said to the waitress. I believe what I did say was something along the lines of: O yeah, uhm, it’s great, sitting, writing, losing… Which, again, is true: I love to sit, write, lose.
It is the same sensitivity to language that had me earlier this week turn to my co-worker in awe when he said: I hope there is a light rain tonight so that tomorrow when I go riding in the mountains the roads are tacky. Tacky! Brilliant! I scramble and scribble each day hoping for the kind of clarity of thought that people speak in.
This is to be a blog about poetry. Soon there will be links to published poems. I will also post some original stuff every once in a while. For now, check this out: