Train Running Off Its Track

What I wish to keep of this post:

The passage about the flowers I was writing was kind of running off its track with me on it, but I sent the flowers sailing; I felt they were meant to be enjoyed and free, I watched them fly in the breeze as they’d come to me, flying in the night still light, off my balcony,…


I set the clean dishes and utensils in their places…warm sun for the eyes…open windows for the still air…I will close my eyes…sitting in whichever chair…rest them awhile…listen…watch imaginative shows…hear…And then pick up my canvas with paints or my pen and page for my first novel sketch when I wake, what I’d like for this afternoon, succulence, find me in one place.

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