Wrote a poem this morning. Carried a line over for another poem some day. I like this line. It feels very, very good to be writing again; however slowly. I think all will be well in the end. There are some expected silences, but in the end we write because we have to, because we must. I've been unable to write for a long, long time. The silence is broken. It feels good, quite musical. I feel free when I write.
Reading John Ashbery has had a huge influence on me. A lot of talky intellectual (abstract) moments coming through in the new poem according to two other writers. They are phenomenal writers, so it's difficult to head on where I seem to be headed, but I suppose I'll just go where the flow tells me to go. It feels freeing though to continue treading this unfamiliar ground in my work.
Very upset yesterday about images of sea gulls and pelicans caught in the oil. Geez. I'm sick.