This Book

It seems spring may never come.
Today was so cold.

I almost fell asleep
in the afternoon,
with the dog at my feet
and it's only Monday.

But then the sparks began
to stir
the words creating new songs
(and I can't even write songs)
and the way Ti Jean's words look
so different this year
but always magical
and reminders that not long ago
I burned it all to the ground
to get back here
(that being here
is the only good thing
I ever did right)


and then what use have I
for sleep?
The night grows late
my mind still a mad house
and hungry
if you were here
now
I would tell you.

It all.