If I could put it all into a poem,

I would.

There is a point when

reality falls away.

It’s no good,

what others might say

to bring you back to earth.

If you stop caring

eventually, you go crazy—

A writer must listen

and record what he thinks.

People ask me,

“Where do you find the time?”

Basically, there are a few things that make me feel good,

and the rest doesn’t matter.

I was pulling-out of a parking space this morning

and a guy flipped me off.

I didn’t care.

What surprises me, is when I do care.

Getting wrapped up in someone else’s drama

is a present I don’t want to unwrap.

It’s an empty box.

Hemingway blew his brains out with a shotgun because he couldn’t write.

Do you think he actually needed another novel?

I feel blessed to see the world.

Perhaps, surgeons see bodies

and accountants

add-up the cost,

while

I stand outside

and

write it down.