Mocha first.

28 Apr

Needing four shots. Or at least I have myself convinced that’s what I need. Pretty sure I do. Not wanting to work today, only play more with these poems and stories in head. All I want to do. Writer symptoms. That’s all it is. Going to write in car, these voices in this shop annoying me– not to mention the steam sounds, the cars driving by for the drive-through window. The morning reinforces the reality of needing your own space, YOUR geography, your quietude for what you need to do.

In car and away from where coffee’s made and blended, foamed and whipped and everything that makes sounds and sends more scents to air which distract. The lecture of morning hours descends with varied syncopation and delivery. It’s clear what I’m to do, a student, revolving in and for my studies, for students in any of my classes. The metal racks meant for barrels, left, reinforce work, the Road, the progress and travel of self from one set of scenes to next. More needs noted, more needs to be on page. Everything teaches, all visuals instruct. And, you can always re-write.

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