A short piece about the need for constancy of process in (my) writing. |
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And I WriteI wash a lot of dishes and I write,make the bed and scrub the john and write I cook and walk the dog, look out windows, change the bulbs in reading lamps, walk around the joint a while, smoke a cigarette and think, maybe take the tram to town But sometime in the day I write It’s what I came to Prague to do, leaving life behind, an unmade bed There’s compulsion in my orderliness, born out of guilt and changing horses that kicks my focus in the butt It may be just a letter, poem or e-mail to a friend, barely enough to call my work But sometime in the day I write |
This poem is included in Jim Freeman's poetry collection THE SMELL OF TWEED AND TOBACCO available here in print or as an e-Book in your favorite formats. |