A poem for Sunday
"So what are my stories?" Stories in song, in cotton, in prose. Been cutting (slicing) fabric for stars, their alignments altered. Merged into one, clouds and solids, crazy mix of wild Tilda prints and other decorative ideas dwelling silently in a tote for weeks, months, maybe years to come. (Strum guitar strum, "Ricetones" by Subaqwa) An epub made, reading, read. Typos caught, maybe missed, this novel looking as though already published, but merely ticking away in my phone. Did novelists dream of such shenanigans in 1892, in 1904, in 2003? Did I dream of this arrangement when writing my first novel or my first book (which came long before the fiction)? Captured words and deeds ("Ricetones" fades back in, plenty of reverb) held in their own kind of flash drive totes, pretty damn small compared to where the EPP lives. (Then sneakily, as though it's not there arrives the music....) "This Mountain Is Closed" by Subaqwa a 90s indies band w...