I got in from knockin' the shit out of a couple of pallets, recovering BRAND-NEW 2 X 4 assorted lengths. This kind of afternoon activity FILLS me with an almost Divine Euphoria. The weather conditions were "Pond Hockey" Perfect, meaning, 30 degrees and NO Wind, "Ideal" cuts it to its marrow : and so there I was, Old Guy With Hammers, Crow and Pry Bars, "Doing his Thing". The Work Site was beside the Bird Feeders and my Sparrows were feeding, (also contentedly) and the World was in this Robert Frost and E.E. Cummings PEACE. And here it is where I MUST be so very CAREFUL that I don't get out my pen and record this..................Divinity, and by thus engaging, PREVENT myself from executing The (so-called) Demands of the Time.
I've done that..... I get lost in a Reverie that defines me as Emily Dickenson when in MAN REALIY I much prefer the Rugged and Bull of E.E. It's THAT and even when the Poems enter "of their own accord", there's even a TOLL levied on me for THEM. All that Intensity beats on me the way I beat on the pallets.
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