(no subject)

Because I am still much with the unproductivity and the general snarliness, two more poems.

One of which I've always wanted to work into a story somehow:

( Over and Over Stitch, Jorie Graham )

And the other of which I actually did work into a story, some time ago:

( Coming to This, Mark Strand )

Both of which, in their respective ways, speak to my mood today.

(no subject)

I may have said it a year ago, or two years, at this time, but it bears repeating -- the sound of sleet rattling on dead leaves, in the blustery chill night, is, for any good Minnesotan, the leitmotif signalling that winter is lurking in the wings and readying itself to take the stage.

Shut the windows and latch 'em tight, turn on the furnace and dig out the flannels. We won't see the 60-plus days again until April, a half-year from now.