A pencil skitters across my desk.
I'm ready for a break from studying.
--From studying music history, that is--
I'm ready to begin again,
one more attempt, now,
at this thing, self-expression:
why it comes upon me now, I don't know
Perhaps those pages of notes are stifling
and these lines of mind are the fresh air
It's not a funny thing at all.
Dead serious, but... frivolous, compared
to tests and textbooks,
at least to other eyes, other minds than mine own;
To me, though, it's
worth so much more
It's something I can look back on in
weeks, months, years
and recall my thoughts, feelings,
my self,
on that night. That's
why I hesitate to edit:
I don't want to dilute this
This wine, let it ferment;
When I drink it in later, I want me,
vintage October 2009.
