Because having a lot of time off doesn’t mean you’ll write more.
I am a disciplined person, not enough perhaps, but I can usually grasp a hold of something and work at it until it’s done. Unless I have a mass surplus of time on my hands, which I do for the next three weeks. I guess I am unprepared for this exodus of activity, and the time that I am ungrateful for, which is why I’m going to share with you some things I have been paying attention to that describe where I have been sitting, trying to write, for the last few evenings.
I have also been reading the Poems of James Schuyler.
you on the phone, “Can’t
you be content with
your wife and me?” “I’m
not built that way,”
you said. No surprise.
a day like a gull passing
with a slow flapping of wings
in a kind of lope, without
breeze enough to shake loose
the last of the fireweed flowers,
a faintly clammy day, like wet silk
stained by one dead branch
the harsh russet of dried blood.