Band Aids, butter and vanilla
The high point of my day.
Forgot about the glass cleaner.
God damn me!
You cannot believe
What vanilla costs.
The rare and exotic bark
It is seldom that I receive mail
All the bills are paid on line
Spell check rejects the word
The trees are turning orange under
A blue sky with white clouds.
The smell of the air whispers
I have to start thinking about
The play we’re reading next week
And forget about the inspiration
As he fades.
When I clean my apartment
For the seven actors arriving soon.
You have to remember the best way
Is move things.
You’d be surprised what’s hiding
Behind the couch or under the table.
I try to do the same thing with my writing:
Bare my soul.