I could cry with relief

As you may have gathered from my recent posts, the comments attached to them, and Candace's wonderful blog, I have lately been brushing my teeth and sitting down to write. Today, after three hours spent making hesitant notes for a story, journaling, and copying down poems by Sylvia and Emily D., I came out with this, all in a rush:


A fire somewhere
thickens the air
and yellows the hair
of this city.

And ash comes down
and the church lungs drown
and planes fidget
around a city

where acid drives rain
and women complain,
since there is no one to blame
in the city.

OR

A fire somewhere
yellows my hair.

Ash comes down and
planes fidget around

the city where women complain
since there is no one to blame.


I can't call them more than exercises, but they are something, they are a product.