Weathered Thoughts

Fragment written seven days ago when the high temp was 62, a record low high after four days of rain:

Why does the continuous rain stir up my language pot, teasing my ambivalence toward another round of artful production?

I can (and always do) write a lot while living on an always sunny beach.

But when it rains, and rains, and rains some more, and the Rocky Mountain air is continually refreshened, it's almost as if I am experiencing a kind of poetic cleansing.

My mind is lost in cloudy transfigurations of thought -

My skin is moist -

My nerves are lubricated -

My eyes are sleepy -

My balls are bulging -

My measure is running -


and all I can do

is

wait.

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Fragment written today (one week later), anticipated record high of 102:

Emptied dinosaur skin -

Moltenmollusk -

moving?

Not moving.

Protocol --

Brain signals legs
legs reject the motion -

Brain signals arms
arms reject the motion -

Brain signals entire body
body rejects the motion -

New business: pronate
in a pool of chlorination?

Discussion -

followed by heated discussion

followed by more heated discussion

a series of unnecessary digressions

an unexpected stall in the negotiations

until finally

another motion to move

amendment to the motion to move

amendment to the amendment to the motion to move

endless discussion of amendments to the motion to move

a call for recess

unanimously approved

water

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Metadata: heat, rain, body, poetry