How This Begins (from "A Slip Of The Tongue")

the day is overcast
and I am south of Tucson
staring at clouds through screen windows.

this is how it begins as
I type
and this is how it begins as
I sit and wait for
the divine
inspiration.

today, words have been lost through
humidity and
self-doubt.
concepts have been drawn and then
re-arranged in
uncertainty.

the rain keeps coming down
and I wonder if
there is any hope for me.
I know that it is miserable to not
get through.
and I know that it is terrifying to not
make way.

the rain keeps coming down
and the wind blows through
and it is hard to
sit through it all.

but I sit here,
despite my present failure
to write the
immortal
poem.

this is how it begins as I
swat at the gnats and
the spiders.

this is how it begins as passion and desire
are fading into the rain
as I hit these keys.

the mountains are distant
like the charcoal summer fires.

the city is a speck on the
wall.

and this is how it begins as
I make my way
through rain and
wind
and
drunken days.

maybe it was meant to be
this way
or maybe I have fallen victim to some
terrible joke.

yes,
this is how it will begin
at the porch of
a quiet desert
in Arizona
just 30 miles south of
Tucson.

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