After manually sharpened, I longhand the bastards in number two pencil. In notebooks with 1950’s pin-up girls, or some similar nostalgic tease on the cover. And there’s occasionally a knock-off mole skin in sickly earth tones. But I’m apt to misplace the bland as, inevitably, some book on politics or history will find that nondescript scratchpad a prime place to perch.
And I first draft like a third rate B and E perp. Loose and loud and tossing things all about. Everything a target of opportunity. But, in my defense, I don’t resort to typecast…just another dick with a sneak thief thesaurus … I work alone and without a net to determine the plus or minus of the effort; if the gold to ore ratio is worth further mining. Most often, as this note, connotes, I’m but digging a hole.
Which is why I’m wondering why the possibility of a print collection of previous un-posted poesy is in play. Is it simply, I must have my say, while I still have a said, in tangible book, turn the page print.
Maybe I want to bust the asses of a few buddies and ask them for a blurb. And I can’t wait to embarrass a neighbor or two with that request. And best believe I have a certain someone I might be able to shanghai for an introduction.
It’s sure as hell not for any monetary moment. Poetry ships don’t come in. It’s all a port adieu or die.
And now I can sent a copy to Van Dyke Parks and ask him to blurb.
See, I got a plan.
The above Is actually…Martin Luther’s “A Mighty Fortress is our God.
And Now Song Cycle…Is It Pretentious? No Doubt. Is It Genius? Without Doubt? Will you like it on a first listen. I doubt it.