It’s Saturday night in Polk County Florida, drinking, loafing and drinking beer. Lakeland is the backdrop, beer is a constant, but the loafing is not near enough….. but it is Saturday, and I am actually off work, and now I am loafing, on this blog with nothing much to say.
I’ve drank a few, done a little writing, and now sitting around thinking about poetry, or more precisely, poetry as survival tool.
I can’t compete with capitalism, or the way life is (which is capitalism), I can’t compete with the hardships, I can’t even compete with the poetry elite, but I can survive, with a pen in my hand or a keyboard in front of me, and I don’t even understand why this does the trick… to sit here and ramble on about nothing makes the world stop and all the worries go away. I can sit down and labor over a few lines, and money troubles stop, politics stop, my life stops and there is nothing but the words. I don’t have money and I don’t have success, but I have dreams in my pocket and poems in my heart.
It’s Saturday night, and the whole world has stopped.