Except a poem I wrote in five minutes. A dream in pieces on the ground. So much for writing and having something submitted. Damn, I thought I was close. I made a promise to myself I would submit something, but my writing has been described as “a bad day”. Whatever, I’ll keep at it, but probably not going to submit something. I didn’t know the literary magazine made cuts. I thought that was reserved for sports. I shouldn’t be bitter though.
And I thought I would be able to claim something. Have I lost grip of a dream? Can I recover it? Do I really want to write? I think I do, but my muse seems to sleep around with other people and visit me little. I wonder what Raymond Carver or Mr. Redmond would say?
I’m listening to the Grateful Dead right now. “Box of Rain”.
that makes everything all better.
“Walk into splintered sunlight
Inch your way through dead dreams
to another land
Maybe you’re tired and broken
Your tongue is twisted
with words half spoken
and thoughts unclear
What do you want me to do
to do for you to see you through
A box of rain will ease the pain
and love will see you through
Just a box of rain -
wind and water -
Believe it if you need it,
if you don’t just pass it on
Sun and shower -
Wind and rain -
in and out the window
like a moth before a flame
It’s just a box of rain
I don’t know who put it there
Believe it if you need it
or leave it if you dare
But it’s just a box of rain
or a ribbon for your hair
Such a long long time to be gone
and a short time to be there”
